The Deceptive and The Deceived: The 44th Hunger Games
by FireflyLlama
Summary: The tributes have been becoming increasingly intelligent. They've been figuring out the way arenas work and manipulating them. The Capitol do not like this at all. And now they will show the tributes that intelligence does not always win the Hunger Games... SYOT CLOSED.
1. Prologue

**A/N- Hi everyone and welcome to my new SYOT! This is my second one, my first being Fear Lies Within (if you haven't read it then please do!), and I am really excited to get this one started. Unlike my first SYOT, I have decided to write a prologue that features the Head Gamemaker and President just before the 44th Games...**

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><p>Walking down the corridor with the over-polished floor tiles and scarcely decorated walls, Aquila Vesta was feeling substantially anxious about her meeting with the President. She, of course, had met Panem's leader many times before, but today was a little different. Not only was it a private meeting between the two, but it was in fact a meeting of much importance, so to speak, and because of this, the over-confident Aquila felt tiny flutters of butterflies in the pit of her stomach. Nerves were for children, Aquila had always taught herself, but then again she never really had much of a childhood to really experience nervousness, so maybe she could be forgiven to experience them now.<p>

The double doors with a crested gold 'P' for President stood at the end of the corridor. Echoes of shoe heels tapping the floor bounced from the walls, ringing in Aquila's ears like an alarm. She was aware that the heels of her shoes were much higher than most of her others and it was a risk to wear them today in case she stumbled in front of the President, but she had always liked taking risks. It was a risk that had gotten her the job of Head Gamemaker, the first ever female as well! Upon remembering that she was the first of her kind, Aquila couldn't help but crack a sly smile as she tapped her bony knuckles on the door of the President's main office.

A few seconds passed after the knock before a reply came drifting from under the door and through the keyhole. The deep and ever so superior voice told Aquila that she could enter, so she turned the gold handle and pushed open the door.

The first thing that Aquila noticed upon entering the room was the incredible heat that washed over her entire body. She knew that the President despised the cold, but maybe this was taking things to the extreme. It was summer for crying out loud! Yet Aquila refrained from passing a comment on the heat and instead approached the large mahogany desk that stood central in the room. The heels of her shoes were beginning to sink a little into the carpet as she stood before the President.

"Good afternoon, President Snow." Aquila addressed her superior with clarity.

"And to you, Aquila." The President always seemed to call Aquila by her first name and not 'Miss Vesta' as she would have expected him to. It didn't particularly bother Aquila much, as she was quite fond of her name, but it seemed almost improper and impolite, and if it was anyone else addressing her in this way then she would have corrected them. Alas, it was the President speaking to her in this way, so she could hardly correct someone who had more power than all of the Districts put together.

"Are you well?" Aquila asked, making sure she sounded as polite as she could. She needed to keep on good terms with the President if she was going to return for this job next year.

"Yes, I am well." President Snow answered calmly. "And yourself?"

"I'm very well, thank you." Aquila said. "May I…may I take a seat?"

"No, I'd rather you stand in those incredibly high shoes and develop a strain in the back of your legs."

Aquila said nothing, just looked blankly towards the President.

"I am only humouring you, Aquila." President Snow said. "You are welcome to take a seat."

Feeling a small ripple of relief, Aquila sat herself down on the large brown leather chair opposite the President. Sitting down made Aquila seem a little more comfortable as she felt less tall and lanky, but the heat still irritated her. From the corner of her eye she could see the source of this heat: a large marble fireplace with a ferocious fire roaring in its heart. The flames were practically leaping from the fireplace, threatening to lick the arms of Aquila, and the heat was so intense that she began to fear that her make-up was melting down her face. It wasn't, but Aquila still felt extremely conscious of the layers of powders that sat upon her skin.

"So, it is that time of year again." President Snow began. "Firstly, let me congratulate you on your promotion. It must be nice to be the one giving orders rather than obeying them."

"Yes, I will certainly enjoy it." Aquila said. "I had always aimed to be more than just a Gamemaker."

"And now you are Head Gamemaker. The first female we've ever had, as well." He said.

"Yes, that was quite a surprise."

President Snow linked his fingers together. "But you were the best candidate this year and to be honest with you, I think we needed a change. Some of the males were…let's just say predictable. And I do not like predictable."

"Nor do I." Aquila agreed.

"Yes, which brings our conversation to this year's Hunger Games." He said. "Take a look at this."

At that moment, a large screen lifted from the wall and swivelled to face the two people. It was blank for a few seconds, then a film began to play. Aquila watched with observant eyes as clips of past Games played on the screen. Each clip was short, some only a couple of seconds long. One clip was of last year's Victor using the river as a dam to release a tidal wave of water that drowned most of his remaining opponents. Another was from the year before that, of a girl using a force field to repel small rocks towards the Career pack.

The film ended and the screen went black, before sliding back into the wall. Aquila turned to the President, whose face had a questioning look upon it.

"What did you notice about those clips?" He asked her.

"They were all from the past few years of Hunger Games." Aquila replied hopefully.

"Yes, but what else did you notice?" Snow pushed.

Aquila bit her bottom lip as she tried to remember exactly what she just saw. Sorting through the various clips in her head, she finally came up with an answer.

"All the tributes were using the arena against other tributes."

"Precisely." President Snow said. "All of those tributes had manipulated what we had put as obstacles into useful weapons. And do we like that?"

Aquila shook her head.

"Good girl." He said. "Why do you think they did that? Why did we not see much of this _manipulation_ in earlier Games? Why only has it happened in more recent Games?"

"Um… The Gamemakers have been losing ideas recently?" Aquila guessed.

"Not quite, the arenas haven't been short of creativity." He said. "Any other guesses?"

Aquila frowned. "I'm afraid not…"

"Then let me enlighten you." President Snow said, placing his pale hands on the desk in front. "Intelligence. The tributes have become more and more intelligent over the past years. Now, I do not mind intelligent people, in fact all the people whom I hire are usually intelligent people, but what I don't like are tributes who outsmart us, or rather, the Gamemakers. We have seen a rising number in the amount of tributes who have figured out the way arenas work and how to manipulate it to their advantages. And that is not good. Do you know why?"

Aquila nodded. "Because it makes the tributes look cleverer than us."

"Perfect." President Snow said. "The Hunger Games are beginning to look like a code the tributes can crack and that is starting to remove the element of danger and control that we are trying to get across to the Districts. We need to stop that image before it builds further and develops into some kind of rebellion. That is where you come in."

"Me?"

"Yes, you." He said. "As Head Gamemaker, it is your job to ensure that the Games return to their original complexity and difficulty. You will do this by preventing any tributes from discovering the way the arena works and hence preventing any manipulation."

"And how would I do that?" Aquila asked bravely.

The President leant forward in his chair and Aquila swore that she saw a small flicker of mischief flash in his eyes. "You will do it by deceiving the tributes into thinking that there is a way to work the arena and then revealing that their guesses are wrong. You will twist it so that there is no way of predicting what will happen next, nor any way to avoid what we throw at them. You will confuse even the most intelligent of brains and see them struggle to figure things out. In short, you will create an arena that _cannot be solved_."

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><p><strong>AN- Okay, so that sets the rest of the story up. I hope it makes the story sound intriguing enough.**

**Now, as this is an SYOT, I will be needing people to send in some tributes to participate in these games. I am currently open for submissions and will accept them via pm, so please don't submit via review because I don't want readers to know everything about a tribute before I have written the story, so please please please only send via private messaging. To submit, please fill in the form below and send it to me. I am most likely to accept detailed forms, so don't be shy when it comes to filling it in! However, I am requesting that we don't have too many 'weird' tributes; a couple will be acceptable, but I would like some normal tributes too otherwise it won't be very realistic. Oh and try not to copy off characters from the Hunger Games books because I really would like unique tributes and don't want the same old characters that have been seen before. Apart from that, you can pretty much do whatever you want and be as creative as you like with your tributes! Each author can submit a maximum of three tributes, but I probably won't accept all three, so please highlight which tribute you want to be accepted the most. That's it, I think, so get submitting and I look forward to receiving your tributes! Keep an eye on my profile for updates on how many spaces are left and when the accepted tributes list will be posted!**

**Tribute form:**

**Name:**

**Gender:**

**Age:**

**District (please put 2 other choices besides your preferred district!):**

**Appearance:**

**Personality:**

**Sexual Orientation (eg. Straight, gay, bisexual etc. And would they be likely to have a relationship in the Games?):**

**Strengths (at least three please, and no more than six!):**

**Weaknesses (again, at least three and maximum of six):**

**Fear/s:**

**Weapon of Choice:**

**Background/history:**

**Family:**

**Friends:**

**Reaped or volunteered?:**

**Reaction to being reaped/volunteering:**

**Reaping Outfit:**

**Opinions on Capitol/Games:**

**Interview Angle:**

**Interview Outfit:**

**How will they act in the Bloodbath?:**

**Allies?:**

**Arena Strategy:**

**Anything else:**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama xxx**


	2. District One Reapings

**A/N- So, the prologue is over and now it is time to jump straight into the Reapings. Here are our District One tributes, submitted by ImmyRose and Emmeline C. Thornbrooke. I really enjoyed writing for these two tributes, I hope you enjoy reading it!**

**And here is a completed list of all the tributes. Thanks to everyone who submitted!**

**District 1 Male: Adriel Maguire _-ImmyRose_  
>District 1 Female: Carman Josefina Alvarez <em>-Emmeline C. Thornbrooke<em>  
>District 2 Male: Caius Devron -<em>munamana<em>  
>District 2 Female: Artemisa Drai <em>-Zuri2002<em>  
><strong>District 3 Male: Hayden Williams -ardiethepenguin<br>**District 3 Female: Estella Clayworth -_Regieturtle_  
><strong>District 4 Male: Sawyer Phillips <em>-FoxfaceFan1<em>  
><strong>District 4 Female: Galene Fulgora <em>-LokiThisIsMadness<em>  
><strong>District 5 Male: Maverick Monarch <em>-Flintlightning<em>  
><strong>District 5 Female: Victoria Landly -<em>ElementalEvolution<em>  
><strong>District 6 Male: Garry "Fen" Fender <em>-GreenPokeGuy<em>  
><strong>District 6 Female: Tess Mercier -<em>Lupus Overkill<em>  
><strong>District 7 Male: Delaney "Laney" Ares -<em>Rebirth of a Demented Kitten<em>  
><strong>District 7 Female: Tayala Billies <em>-In-My-Head-749<em>  
><strong>District 8 Male: Talon Radycus -<em>Ryan22000<em>  
><strong>District 8 Female: Nardia Cornelius James -<em>BamItsTyler<em>  
><strong>District 9 Male: Wen Taleigh -<em>hp0123<em>  
><strong>**********District 9 Female: Clio Aster _-katsparkle13_  
><strong>District 10 Male: David Peterson -<em>thederangedramblingsofme<em>  
><strong>District 10 Female: Petunia Evens <em>-Axe Smelling God<em>  
><strong>District 11 Male: Nietzsche Cirque -<em>ElementalEvolution<em>  
><strong>District 11 Female: Cerese Melion -<em>Dissection of the Mind<em>  
><strong>District 12 Male: Alex Silver -<em>Cometsrock1<em>  
><strong>District 12 Female: Emilia Lowe -<em>Tessabelle94<em>**************  
><strong>****************

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><p><span>Adriel Maguire, District 1 Male POV<span>

I'm awake precisely three minutes and twenty seven seconds before my alarm goes off. It's one of those really aggravating alarms where the bleeps are monotonous, but irregularly paced, and the sound keeps repeating over and over in your head for the dragging minutes following. Many times have I thrown the clock at the nearest wall in a frustrated manner when arousing from a dark pit of slumber, but the damned thing has never broken or ceased to annoy me. I could easily go down to the training centre, pick up the largest axe and smash it down on the durable and seemingly indestructible clock, but I always manage to find reasons not to. Like today, for example. I can't oversleep on the day of the Reaping, can I?

I'm feeling slightly empowered as I swing my long legs out of bed, the duvet falling like a sheet of snow at my feet. Beating the race against my alarm clock seems to have made me feel a little better about today and I almost feel like smiling as I stroll over to my en-suite. But, of course, that smile never reaches my lips.

Walking into the bathroom, I fumble for the light switch and let the artificial brightness fill the room. It burns my eyes at first, but after a few exaggerated blinks, the stinging sensation fades. I stand before the mirror, frowning as I inspect my appearance. My hair is its usual messy self, but I notice the right side of it looks a little flat, so I quickly run my fingertips through it and ruffle it again. A lot of people tend to say that I always look as if I have just rolled out of bed and stumbled out of the house, but I don't correct them. I like the bed-head style; who wants slicked-back hair that looks as if a grease pan has been poured all over your head? As for those other popular hairstyles, most of them make the boys look like groomed pets. And I for one certainly do not want to resemble the family spaniel.

I splash some cold water over my face and rub a dry flannel over it. Then just as I go to turn around, I spot something that disturbs my appearance. Quick as a flash, my hand dives for the tweezers and I pluck out the offending stray hair from just below my left eyebrow. I then stride out of the en-suit and head downstairs.

The smell of freshly brewed expensive coffee greets my nostrils as I walk into the wide kitchen. I've never been one for coffee, it's a bit rich for my likings, but my adoptive dad, Bruno, adores the beverage. He stands over the coffee brewer, crushing down the beans like I would crush the bones of a tribute if I were in the Hunger Games. He notices me looming in the doorway and holds up a mug. "Coffee, Adriel?"

I shake my head. "I don't need a chemical to wake me up in the morning."

"Caffeine is hardly a chemical…" Bruno says, tapping the side of the mug with his fingers.

"It alters your brain's activity, so by definition it is a chemical." I reply bluntly, grabbing a slice of bread from the table and slouching onto one of the chairs.

"Actually, a substance that alters your brain's activity is called a _drug_." Bruno corrects me.

I grunt. "Exactly. Coffee is a drug. And I'm not drinking it."

Bruno sighs, a sign of defeat, and returns to his coffee brewer, a low whistle echoing from his pursed lips. For a man without a wife or girlfriend, Bruno seems extremely optimistic about life and always seems to be in a good mood, despite my attempts to dull his cheerfulness. I've never liked my adoptive father, he's far too calm and no matter what I do to try to anger him, he still manages to keep cool and collected. And I don't like that. I want a father who I can challenge, not some happy-go-lucky guy who has a ridiculous fondness to coffee. I never knew my real father, he died before I was born, but I bet he was more like me. If he was married to my mother then he must have been, she would never have married anyone like Bruno. I often wonder what life would be like for me if my mother was still here. She too had died, in a house fire, but that was when I was twelve so I had plenty of time to get to know her. My mother was always very strict when I was growing up, she seemed protective and controlling over my life, but I always put that down to her grief over my father. I adored her, but now I have realised that she wasn't the angel I believed her to be, but rather a control-freak who was so bitter about her past that she wanted to live her life through her son instead. If she was here now, or even 'looking down from heaven' then I bet she'd be pleased with her work: I am completely like her.

Swallowing down the last mouthful of bread, I sound a large burp and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand in satisfaction.

"Must you burp so loudly, Adriel?" Athalia, Bruno's daughter and my adoptive sister, walks into the room. She is wearing a pale blue dress that reaches just above her knees and shows off her slim, tanned legs. Her hair is expertly braided to one side and she has weaved in a few tiny white flowers into her locks.

"Must you wear such provocative dresses?" I reply harshly, smirking when I see the hurt look on her pretty face. "You look like a slut with all that flesh showing."

"Adriel!" Bruno protests from behind his coffee mug.

I flash him a hard stare. "You should be ashamed of your daughter, dressing like a tart."

Athalia, appearing to look very uncomfortable in her dress now that I have pointed it out, tries to pull it further down her legs. There actually isn't anything wrong with the dress, it isn't even that short, but I like to knock her confidence, it makes me feel better about my own appearance.

"Just ignore him, sweetheart." Bruno says softly to Athalia. She nods silently, but still seems extremely self-conscious as she takes a seat at the kitchen table, her eyes facing to the floor in an embarrassed manner. She's eighteen, one year older than me, yet she is very meek and insecure; most of the time I feel older than her because of this.

I roll my eyes and slouch further back in my chair as Bruno starts to talk to his daughter.

"How are you feeling about your last reaping, Athalia?" He asks her.

"Fine, Father." She replies. "Someone will volunteer even if I'm reaped, so I'm not worried about it,"

"You should be the one volunteering." I butt in. "Oh wait, you didn't even train, did you? My mistake, I forgot that you were too weak and wimpy to train."

Athalia drops her head.

"Fortunately, I am not." I continue. "Which is why I have decided to volunteer today."

Bruno almost chokes on his beverage. "You're _volunteering_?!"

I nod. "Yeah, I was going to wait another year, but then I thought, what's the point? I'm as ready now as I'll ever be. I don't want to wait another year to become Victor and get out of this hell-hole."

"This isn't a hell-hole." Bruno says, but doesn't actually seem to be insulted. I guess he's used to it by now. "It's a decent-sized house in one of the richest parts of the district."

"Yeah." I say, rising from my seat. "But it isn't the house that's the bad bit, it's the people in it."

Carman Josefina Alvarez, District 1 Female POV

I stand at the end of the street, re-tying the scarf under my ponytail and looking down the wide road. Two rows of large white houses line the street, all identical except for the biggest one at the head of the street. That's the one I am staring at. It's bigger than the others, almost twice their size, but just as grand. Large and spotlessly clean white washed walls with polished windows and a dark slated roof, the house sits proudly over the others in the way a king would when addressing his subjects, or the President when he gives speeches to Panem. I was never really interested in houses as I left my own home four years ago (I was eleven at the time) and I've been living on the streets and sleeping in any random building I can find, but there is just something about this particular house that amazes me. A small grin passes my lips; maybe it's not just the house that I'm interested in, but instead the person _inside_ the house.

I wait patiently for another few minutes until the large wooden doors of the house open and a girl comes out. She walks quickly down the street, a general elegance around her as she hurries along; her light red hair streaming out behind her like a veil. I can't help but smile when I see her, she has that effect on me. I'm usually not interested in people, they're all idiots, but there's something different about Amélie and it's not just the fact that she's the mayor's daughter.

As Amélie draws close, I stand up straight, peeling my back off the wall that I was leaning on and flash her a warm smile. She returns it with such a sweet twinkle in her smoky eyes that makes the smile on my face grow even larger.

"Carman." Amélie says warmly.

"Amélie." I say back. "You okay?"

She nods, a stray of hair falling over her forehead. Gently, I reach over and push the strand back.

"You look beautiful." I tell her.

Flushing a slight pink in her cheeks, Amélie bites her bottom lip and looks down to her white cotton dress that hangs beautifully off her small figure. It's a lovely dress, so pretty and so like Amélie. If people were dresses, this would be Amélie.

"Thanks, Father bought it for me to wear especially for the reaping." She says. "You look lovely too."

I glance down at my attire; a cotton flared skirt and beige blouse. Nothing special, as I don't own many clothes, but it is my best outfit. Living on the streets kinda limits you to the amount of luggage you can carry around.

"I do my best." I laugh, holding out my hand for Amélie to take. Shyly she places her dainty hand into my much tougher hand, which has been worn into by my training. "Let's walk for a bit. We still have some time before the Reaping begins."

As we walk along, hand in hand, Amélie tells me about the recent news in the District. Being the mayor's daughter, she is always one of the first to know the latest gossip. Personally, I couldn't really care less about the drunkards who smashed into the gift shop the other night, or the new Peacekeepers who arrived last week, but I don't say that to Amélie. She's generally a quiet girl, so it's nice for her to feel comfortable talking to me and also, I like hearing her speak. The way she pronounces each word so delicately is like music to my ears. It's a shame she hates public speaking, otherwise she would be great at giving speeches to the District.

Amélie and I met only a year ago, but I feel as if I've known her all my life. We first crossed paths one night when I was out wandering through the District, looking for somewhere to sleep for the night. As I was searching through what I thought was an empty house, I had heard a cry from nearby. I had ran out of the building to see a couple of Peacekeepers cornering a girl. The girl had looked terrified and was desperately trying to tell the Peacekeepers that she was innocent, but they were ignorant towards her, calling her a thief and saying how she was going to be arrested if she didn't pay an extortionate fine. I'd had my fair clashes with Peacekeepers, you tend to bump into them a lot when you live on the streets, so I wasn't afraid of them or what they would do. So I ran over and pulled the Peacekeepers away from her, punching them here and there when physically pushing them wasn't enough. I had managed to create a gap for the girl to escape through and she slipped away. I didn't think I would see her again, but later that evening when I was walking alone, she had come running up to me and thanked me. I didn't know at the time that she was the mayor's daughter, but it didn't seem to matter because we hit it off straightaway. I guess our differences went together nicely, her gentle nature ironed out my toughness. It just worked, I suppose. Another thing I hadn't realised until meeting Amélie was that I was gay. I was never interested in boys, they were far too immature, but I never thought that I was gay. Neither did Amélie, but when two people connect like that, I guess it doesn't matter what sex they are.

"So," Amélie says as we walk down the street. We're on the other side of the District now, quite close to where the Reaping is held and right next to the Training Centre. "Who do you think will volunteer this year? I don't train, so I don't know much about it."

"Hmm, let's see." I chew my bottom lip in thought. "I'm pretty sure I heard Crystal Delia saying that she was volunteering this year. She _is_ the top student out of all the eighteen year old girls. As for boys, I'm not sure, there are quite a few who are keen. I guess it will be a matter of who gets to the stage first, as it always is."

Amélie frowns, "I don't see why so many people want to volunteer. Isn't it a bit risky to do for some money?"

I say nothing, my eyes falling to the floor at my feet.

"Carman?" Amélie squeezes my hand. "What is it?"

I don't want to lie to her, I really don't, but I didn't want her to find out this early. I plan to volunteer this year; I know I am much younger than most other volunteers at only fifteen (sixteen next month though!), but I feel prepared and well, I don't want to be living in the streets anymore. Amélie is the mayor's daughter, she shouldn't be with someone like me really. If her family knew… Well, let's just say they wouldn't be very pleased. I reckon they would eventually get over Amélie being gay, but I see no chance in them allowing her to be with me and I don't want to put her in that position. She shouldn't have to choose between me and her family.

"Carman?" Amélie says again.

I raise my head and look her in the eyes. Her grey eyes are like clouds of mist and they stare deep into mine. There is no way I can lie to her.

"Amélie." I say gently. "I, erm…"

She seems to have guessed it before I say it. "You're volunteering, aren't you, Carman?"

I bite my lip.

"Carman!" Amélie exclaims. "Why would you volunteer this early?! You're not even _sixteen_ yet…"

"I am in a month!" I cry out.

Amélie shakes her head, her hair falling loosely over her shoulders. "I can't believe you'd do that…"

"But I'm doing it for you!"

She turns to look at me again, confusion all over her pretty face. "For _me_? How is risking your life going to help _me_?"

"Because…" I look to the ground, then raise my eyes to look at her again. "If I win, I'll be rich and important and and…" My sentence trails off.

Amélie's look turns soft once more; understanding. "You think that if you win the Games, you'd be good enough for me because I'm the mayor's daughter. Is that it?"

I nod slowly. "You're beautiful, you're important in this District. I'm not. But I want to be. And I thought that if I could win the Hunger Games then maybe I'd no longer be a rough girl on the street, but a respectable and suitable girl…And then maybe your parents would approve…"

"Oh, Carman." Amélie wraps her arms around me, embracing me in a floral-scented hug. "I don't need my parents' approval. I can do what I like, be with whom I like. And that's you, my rescuer, remember?"

"Of course I remember."

"Then you should know that I fell in love with that girl who rescued me that night, not anyone else." Amélie says. "You don't have to change to be with me."

I nod, but deep down I know this isn't true. I'm not saying that Amélie is lying, I'm saying that she doesn't realise the full truth. But I do. And I know that the only chance I have to be good enough for her is to win the Hunger Games. I'd have to leave Amélie behind, but if I came back, which I believe I can do, then it will be worth it to have that chance of a future together. And that is all I want in this world.

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><p>Having arrived at the town square, I wait in the queue of teens to get signed in. The queue goes down quite quickly and I'm so preoccupied with my plan that I don't even feel the needle prodding into my finger. Half in a daze, I suck the tiny droplet of blood from my finger and plough through the crowds of people.<p>

The Reaping is as hectic as it usually is, some of the older teens arguing over who is going to volunteer. One of them even goes as far as throwing a punch at another's face and as they stumble backwards, they crash into the side of me.

"Oi, watch it!" I snap at the boy, pushing him off my shoulder.

"You watch it_, little girl_." He sneers at me.

"Oh, grow up, will ya?" I roll my eyes and walk off, holding my middle finger up to him as I disappear back into the crowd.

As I line up with the other fifteen year old girls, my eyes desperately search for Amélie, but I can't see over the heads and bodies of the other girls behind me. Damn, I wish I was a bit taller…

I don't have time to look again as the Capitol anthem begins to play and the escort totters across the stage to the microphone.

"Welcome District One to the forty-fourth annual Hunger Games!" She says, a full smile stretching across her face. "Let's begin with the girls, shall we? Although I have a feeling that there are some very eager volunteers in the audience…"

I smile secretly to myself. I can't wait to wipe the smug smile that I know will be plastered on Crystal Delia's face. I know that she was chosen by the trainers to volunteer this year, she practically broadcasted it to the entire District, but I know that she won't be smiling for much longer. Not when I volunteer.

The escort moves over to the girls' reaping bowl and plunges her hand into the masses of paper slips. I start to prepare, working out my route up to the stage. I know I will have to be quick if I'm going to get there first. Lucky for me that I'm nearer the front; it does help being younger…

Just before the escort reads out the name, I decide to strike.

"I VOLUNTEER!" I cry out, pushing through the wall of unsuspecting fifteen year old girls. Many of them gasp, shocked that someone so young is volunteering, but I don't have time to say anything back; I can here Crystal yelling. I bet she'll try and beat me.

It's my advantage of being nearer to the stage that helps me to win and I sprint up the stairs. As I tell the escort my name, I look out into the audience, searching and searching for Amélie. And when I see her, all I see is a face filled with disappointment.

Adriel Maguire, District 1 Male POV

I'm impatient as I wait in the town square. Boys and girls from the ages of thirteen to eighteen come swarming in, most chatting away to each other and whispering about who they think will volunteer this year. So far I haven't heard anyone mention my name, but they wouldn't, would they? Volunteers are usually eighteen year olds, the maximum age you can be in the Hunger Games, and I know there are plenty eighteen year old boys ready to volunteer this year. I've seen the determined looks on their faces, and I'll be the one to ruin that for them. Because I will be the one volunteering, not them.

The atmosphere is pretty electric, the majority of people here love the Hunger Games and this is one of the most exciting days for some. It is for me, actually. I didn't feel excited, I generally don't feel those kinds of emotions, but I do feel a small rush of adrenalin pumping through my veins as I wait for my time to shine.

I remember Bruno's face when I told him I was volunteering, the way he almost choked on his coffee. I guess he wasn't expecting me to volunteer a year early, but that's me, I don't like being predictable. In fact, it was a pretty sudden decision. I had always planned to volunteer when I was eighteen, squeeze in that extra year of training, but I couldn't stand it at home anymore. I wanted to break free and live my own life. And becoming Victor will do exactly that.

"Welcome District One to the forty-fourth annual Hunger Games!" The District escort addresses the audience. She is wearing a skin-tight metallic playsuit that goes from just under her pointed chin and all the way down to her ankles. She looks stupid, really stupid. All Capitol people look ridiculous. "Let's begin with the girls, shall we? Although I have a feeling that there are some very eager volunteers in the audience…"

The escort goes over to the first bowl and dips her hand in, swirling it amongst the sea of slips. Then at random she plucks one and totters over to the microphone. But just as she opens it up and goes to read the name, a shout comes from the crowd and a girl comes running up to the stage.

I take a good look at her. She's quite short, with long ebony hair and cinnamon coloured hair that is tied back and sealed with a scarf. I'm sure I recognise her from somewhere, but I can't think where…

"And now, the boys!" The escort takes a slip from the second bowl.

I step forwards. "I volunteer as tribute!"

Several curses and angry shouts from the eighteen year olds who were going to volunteer follow me as I jog up to the stage. I embrace the insults, I'm glad I beat them all to it. Now they won't have a chance to be in the Games, ha!

"A second volunteer!" The escort beams as she passes me the microphone. "Your name?"

"Adriel Maguire." I say clearly. "Oh, and might I just add that you look like a giant spoon in that outfit?"

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><p><strong>AN- So there are our first two tributes... What do you think of them? How do you think they will get on? Will they get on well, or will Adriel's arrogance annoy Carman? I know it would annoy me if I were her...**

**Please review and tell me what you thought. I hope I portrayed them well enough, but let me know! And if you don't review often, then I may not think that you are interested in the story and thus your tribute may die sooner than you'd like... But even if you don't have a tribute, then please still review!**

**District Two Reapings are next and they are both going to be very interesting tributes...**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**


	3. District Two Reapings

**A/N- Okay, here are the next pair of tributes from the wonders of District Two! Thanks to munamana and Zuri2002 for submitting these great tributes!**

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><p><span>Caius Devron, District 2 Male POV<span>

I always knew that the warehouse was a dump, but I never realised how_ much_ of a dump it really was until now. Firstly, it smells. Not just a general warehouse odour, but more along the lines of a burnt plastic kind of smell; one that almost dulls your sense of smell entirely. Secondly, the warehouse is cold and empty, besides the hundreds of crates and myself of course. It has an incredibly high ceiling and shallow walls, so whenever I make a sound it bounces around the room, echoing from corner to corner, wall to wall, floor to ceiling. There's always a chill in the air that likes to catch onto my skin and cling there, tickling the hairs on my arms into soldier stances. And thirdly, it is apparent that whomever owns this place has never heard of hygiene. I'm not one of those obsessively clean people, but I still don't appreciate thick clouds of dust being thrust in my face every time I pick up a crate, nor am I fond of the occasional rat that scurries between my feet.

As if hearing my thoughts, a rat makes an appearance, darting out from behind one of the crates beside me and disappearing again behind another. There was a time when I would try to get rid of the rodents, but I've gone past caring now. If I was being paid more than the scraps I'm being given now, then maybe I would put a little more effort into my job and there wouldn't be any rats chewing through the corners of crates. But I am not being paid more than scraps, so I'll stick to minimum effort.

Having put down one of the crates, I walk over to the next pile and begin unloading it, removing the top crate. This crate is substantially heavier than the last and I feel my muscles strain as I carry it over to the others. Just as I'm placing it on the floor, I hear the sound of the door opening.

"Caius?!" The booming voice of the warehouse owner echoes through the room. "Where are ya?!"

Putting the crate down, I stand back up straight and come out from behind a wall of crates, revealing my location. My boss spots me and beckons me over.

"Someone wants to speak to ya." He says, jerking his thumb towards the door. "He's outside. Some guy from the trainin' centre? I thought at first he was after the wrong guy, seein' that you don't train no more, but he seems pretty sure. An' he's quite impatient, so I'd get shiftin' if I were you."

Shrugging, I walk over to the door and leave the warehouse. It's like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders as I step outside; the air seems much lighter and fresher than in that dump. I turn the corner and see Marc, the head trainer at the Hunger Games training centre, leaning against a wall. He looks up as I walk over and by the expression on his face, I can guess that he's feeling a little fed up.

"Caius." He offers me a hand. I shake it firmly. "You're probably wondering why I'm here, aren't you?"

I nod.

"I have some news for you regarding this year's Hunger Games." He says. "Now, I know you had to… _resign_ from your training two years ago…"

_Resign_. He says it as if it was my choice to leave, as if I was the one who walked out. But we both know that wasn't what happened…

When I was eight, my mother couldn't afford to take care of me (so I was told anyway), but instead of being sent to the District Orphanage, I was taken in by the Career Academy because of my strong and 'promising' build. I spent the following eight years training in the academy in preparation for the day that I would volunteer for the Hunger Games. I didn't particularly want to, but after eight years it was drilled into my head that when I was eighteen I would volunteer and they wouldn't take no for an answer, especially after taking me in from such a young age, they felt that I had to give something back to them in return. However, this expectation of volunteering was dashed when I was sixteen. I was practising with another trainee, he was a year older than me and far more bloodthirsty and obsessed with the Games than I ever was, or ever will be; and during this session he was pumped up and a little on edge after a recent argument he'd had with another boy. I was quite calm as usual, but this boy was getting more and more aggravated as I dodged his attacks, so he snapped out of frustration and made a surprise lunge at me with his spear. However, he had aimed a little too high and instead of grazing my shoulder like he should have done, he caught my neck instead. The blade of his spear had pierced the skin of my lower throat and torn into my flesh. Immediately, the boy dropped the spear and called for help, but I had already passed out from both blood loss and complete shock; I didn't even feel any pain. When I woke up, which apparently was quite surprising because many people were sure that I was going to die, I remember feeling an intense pain in my throat, like someone had ripped out my windpipe and left me with a gaping hole in my neck. It was then when I tried to ask the doctor what had happened and why I was still alive, that I realised I couldn't speak. No matter how hard I tried to form words, I couldn't; all that would come out were a few grunts. I was told that the spear had torn into my vocal cords and that I would never speak again. And as if that wasn't bad enough, I was labelled 'damaged goods' and thrown out of the academy.

So yes, I think the word resign is incorrect here. How about _thrown out? _But of course, I cannot say this to Marc, I just have to wait for him to continue.

"But, how would you feel about volunteering for the Games this year?" Marc asks. "Look, I know it may sound a little strange as you aren't training anymore, but I remember that you used to be pretty good and I'm sure you still have it in you. I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't desperate…No, desperate is the wrong word…I mean, er…look son, we've had a bit of a catastrophe at the academy and we are in need of a male volunteer."

I want to ask what happened to the others, so I pull a confused face in the hope that he will catch on. He looks a little perplexed at first, but quickly catches on.

"Oh, well our main lad got injured, so he had to leave. Then our second guy was the one who injured him, so he was disqualified and is in jail for the next few weeks for doing it." Marc explains. "And then when we think things can't get any worse, we're told that our third boy was only training because his parents wanted to claim that they had a son at the prestigious academy, so as soon as he had a chance to volunteer, they pulled him out too."

I smirk.

Marc sighs. "Look, Caius, I wouldn't be asking if I didn't need you. But all our other lads aren't ready yet and none of them have the natural talent that you had, or still have! I'm not gonna force you into it, but please think about it, ok? I believe you have it in you to win this; and think about all the money and fame you'll have!" He checks his watch. "I've gotta dash, but promise me you'll think about it at least!"

I stare as Marc jogs off, my mind in a state of temporary shock. For the last two years I've been working for scraps, thinking that I'm damaged and will never achieve anything because of it, but now all that has changed in the space of two minutes. The only question is, what do I do now?

Artemisa Drai, District 2 Female POV

_The sound of the door echoed through the room, the creak of the already weakened hinges screeched through the air. I knew it was Dad, he always swung the door open like that on a Friday night. Actually, he swung the door open on every night. _

_It was late, maybe about half one, two am? Well whatever time it was, it was past my bedtime and when it got past my bedtime, things usually ended up bad. I was in the kitchen, getting a glass of water to soothe my sore throat, but as soon as I heard the door opening, I knew I had to hide. _

_Looking around the kitchen, I couldn't see anywhere to hide, so I ran into the lounge next door and ducked behind the sofa. The sofa stank of dried wine and a large dark stain was splashed on the fabric. I squeezed my nose to block out the smell, I hated the smell of wine. In fact, I hated the smell of any alcohol, it reminded me of those terrible nights when Dad would come home so drunk that if I said as much as 'how are you?' he would slap me across the cheek with the back of his hand. He still came home like that, but he hadn't hit me in weeks; probably because I was always out of the way whenever he was around. But I wasn't out of the way this time, I was in the line of fire, praying behind the sofa that I would be spared a bruise tonight._

_Heavy footsteps sounded in the room, the floor slightly vibrated under me. I bit my lip and squeezed my eyes shut, hoping in a childish way that if I couldn't see him, he couldn't see me either. _

"_Adrianne!" My Dad's deep voice boomed throughout the house._

"_What time ya call this, Luca?!" The sound of my Mom's shouting came next. _

"_Any fuckin' time I wanna call it!" Dad yelled back, his words slurred._

"_Don't swear at me, ya pig!" _

"_I can say whatever I wanna say, useless bitch!"_

_I stifled a whimper as the beating sound of Dad stomping up the stairs crashed over me, scared that his boots would break through the staircase. I waited, too petrified to move, and listened for a safe moment to make my escape. But instead, all I heard was more yelling, the sound of my Dad slapping my Mom across the face, her hitting him back, calling each other every curse under the sun. This I was used to, but then I heard a clatter, something tumbling down the stairs._

_Cautiously, I peered out from behind the sofa. And at the bottom of the stairs I saw my Mom. But she wasn't standing, ready to yell something at me, she was on the floor. Unmoving, still on the floor, and with a pool of blood as a pillow under her head._

I scream, swinging the machete towards the dummy. With an easy swipe, the head of the inanimate prop comes clean off, landing with a solid thud on the floor. But that isn't satisfying enough, so I spin around sharply, hacking the limbs off another two dummies and adding them to the pile of severed body parts that litter the training room floor at my feet. And as a finishing manoeuvre, I throw the machete high behind me and wait until I hear the sound of the blade hitting its target. Turning around slowly, I see that my blind aim is just as perfect as it always is and the machete is sticking firmly out of the heart of the dummy behind.

There's a small applause and I snap my head to the side to see Marc, the head trainer at the academy. "Nice sequence, Artemisa. I see you've been working on the backwards technique."

"I didn't need to work on it." I smirk arrogantly. "It all comes naturally."

"I'm sure it does." Marc replies. "Are you still volunteering this year?"

I raise my eyebrows at him. "Are you seriously asking that question?"

Marc nods. "Well after the problem we had with the males, I wanted to make sure that we still had you on board. I'm taking it as a yes, then?"

"Of course." I say, putting the machete back with all the others. "There's no way that I wouldn't."

"That's great to hear." Marc says. "You're by far our best female in the academy, no-one else comes close."

"Tell me something I don't already know."

Laughing, Marc begins to straighten up the racks of weapons. I've been through all of them this morning and I never put them back properly, I know it gets on Marc's nerves.

"So, have you solved the male volunteer problem, then?" I ask, releasing my long red hair from its ponytail. I'm not a natural red-head, my hair is actually a dark brown, but last year I felt I needed a change of style so I dyed it all red. Everyone says it makes me look more dangerous because red is the colour of warning and danger. Most of the boys say it looks sexier.

"Sort of." Marc replies.

"What do you mean, sort of?"

"Well, I'm not sure if he will or not." Marc explains. "He didn't exactly give me an answer…"

"Who is it?" I ask. "Lance?"

Marc shakes his head. "No, Lance isn't good enough yet, he still has one more year."

"Then who is it?"

Marc waits a few moments before saying, "Caius Devron."

"_What?!" _I stare in astonishment at my trainer. "You asked the guy who can't speak and who hasn't even trained for the last _two years?!_ Are you out of your mind?!"

"We had no-one else who was ready!"

"Oh, and Caius is?"

Marc pinches the bridge of his crooked nose. "Despite everything, he was a good fighter, really good, one of the best. And he shouldn't really have been kicked out of the academy, his inability to speak didn't destroy his ability to fight. I guess we overreacted. But trust me, Artemisa, he's good."

"Not good enough." I snort, tossing my hair over my shoulders and storming out of the room. As I leave the training room, I yell back to Marc. "At least nobody will care when I kill him in the arena!"

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><p>I arrive at the Reaping with ten minutes to spare. However, a lot of people are already here; many like to get here early so they can place bets on who will volunteer. I'd guess that many are betting on me. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like at a Reaping in an outside district, where no-one volunteers except for the occasional heroic sibling or best friend. Life must be so boring there with no training academy and where everyone is afraid of the Games. I'm glad I was born in District Two, we have the best reputation out of all three Career Districts as producing the most lethal of tributes, as well as our record for the highest amount of Victors. Soon I'll be one of them too and will be adding another name to the existing list that towers over the other districts. District One do have quite a few Victors too, but not quite as many as we do and I'll be glad to push our numbers up one higher.<p>

As I walk over to sign in, I pass a group of boys in their late teens. I recognise most of them, but can't put names to their faces. From the corner of my eye, I notice them staring at me, their eyes flicking up and down my body. A small smirk forms on my lips and I toss my hair back, giving the boys a wink.

"You can look, but you can't touch." I say in a teasing tone. "And I'll be Victor this year, so you'll have plenty to look at when I'm on the big screen every day."

One of the boys wolf-whistles and I laugh, walking off and making sure my hips are swaying a little more than usual.

Once I have signed in, I go over to stand at the back of the block of girls. Because I'm eighteen, I have to wait in the back row so all the younger girls can stand in front. Some of them are quite tall though, so my view is partially blocked. I'm not small or anything, I'm just average height really, but many of the girls here are like towers. But I could beat every single one of them in a fight. Probably even blindfolded.

A short while later, once the speech has been given by our escort, who looks very eccentric in his laminated orange suit, it is time for the girl to be reaped. Or more correctly, time for me to volunteer. I deliberately stood on the end of the row of girls so that I had a clear run to the stage. I doubt any other girls will volunteer as they all know that it's my turn, but just in case anyone got any ideas, I'm prepared.

The escort picks the first slip of paper and is about to announce the name, when I decide to shout what I have always wanted to shout. "I VOLUNTEER!"

The crowd erupts into applause as I make my way to the stage. I leap up the stairs two at a time and take my place centre stage. The escort asks for my name and holds the microphone towards my lips.

"My name is Artemisa Drai." I tell the people. "But you probably all know that anyway. And another thing you should all know is that I'm going to bring victory to District Two once again!"

_And I'll have enough money to send my Dad to prison, _I think to myself, _He'll regret every bruise he ever put onto my body._

Caius Devron, District 2 Male POV

I've decided to volunteer.

After Marc had left, I too went home to get ready for the Reaping. For the entire walk home, which was about ten minutes at a decent pace, I couldn't stop thinking about what he had told me. A second chance, a chance to volunteer and be the tribute I was trained to be! The old me wouldn't have been pleased, I never wanted to be a part of the Games and kill for entertainment, but the new me, the cast-off who barely has a penny to his name, he needs to grab this opportunity with both hands. I'm still not bloodthirsty or craving for fame, I'm simply doing it to better myself and gain enough money to get me and Maggie out of that shack.

When I was thrown out of the academy, because I had no family and was too old to be taken in by the Orphanage, I expected to live on the streets until I got myself a decent job. But getting a good job isn't so easy when you are unable to speak, so that's why I had to take the awful job at the warehouse. That's when I met Maggie, a few days after being kicked out of the academy. I had briefly remembered her from my early training days; she too was training for the Games but an injury had left her unfit to continue. Maggie never let it get to her and being as strong as she was, she managed to get herself a job in a bar and could afford to stay in a very tiny shack; compared to what I had, she was rich. Maggie had heard about my injury and how I had been dismissed like she had, so she offered to take me in. I was reluctant at first, but she was so kind that I felt myself accepting her offer. After a year of living together, we got to know each other and started dating. Maggie never complained about my inability to speak, she learned to how understand me through hand gestures and grunts, although sometimes I had to write things down if my thoughts were too complicated to express. I think in a way she liked it, she found it interesting and mysterious, well that's what she told me anyway. We are still dating now and I am still forever in her debt for taking me in two years ago, so this is me trying to repay her.

I watch the Reaping with feelings of anxiety. I'm quite nervous to volunteer, but only because it's been so long since I believed I would be in the Games, not because of what lies ahead in the arena. I have no fear of dying.

The female tribute is a volunteer, as usual. I recognise her as Artemisa Drai; she was always one of the top girls when I was training. As usual she stands, tossing her obviously dyed red hair and flirting with anything in trousers. I'm not particularly fond of Artemisa, but that doesn't matter because I won't need to be nice to her in the Games. She'll be in the Career alliance no doubt, but I have no intentions of joining them. I'm in the Games to survive and hopefully gain a better life for myself, not to kill as many kids as I can.

Then it's time for the male tribute. The crowd falls silent as they wait for a volunteer. But they won't be hearing any shouts from me.

Following the result of the chosen slip, I step out from the crowd and begin to walk up to the stage. Hundreds of pairs of eyes follow me as I walk and various mumbles ripple through the people. Everyone seems to know about me.

As I walk onto the stage, the escort rushes over to me and holds out his microphone.

"And your name?" He asks.

I say nothing, for I cannot say anything.

"His name is Caius Devron!" Someone yells from below. "He had a training accident a few years back and he can't talk anymore!"

Artemisa mutters something under her breath, something offensive about me I'm guessing, but the escort seems impressed and thrusts my hand into the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen of District Two, I give you Artemisa Drai and the silent tribute!"

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><p><strong>AN- Well, I found both of those tributes very fun to write for. At first I thought Caius would be difficult to do as he cannot speak, but it wasn't too bad once I got started. I hope I portrayed them both well enough...**

**What do you think of our second set of Careers? We can guess how they'll get on with each other already...but how will they react to Adriel and Carman? We know that Caius doesn't want to be a part of the Career alliance, so how will that play out in the arena? And what about Artemisa, she seems pretty lethal...**

**Thanks to all who have read and reviewed, keep them coming in! Remember, if I don't think you're interested in the story then I may take it out on your tribute...perhaps...hehe.**

**District Three next, a break from the Careers, but what will these next tributes bring to our Games?**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**


	4. District Three Reapings

**A/N- I don't know why this took me longer than the other two reapings...but oh well, it's done now! Here are our first non-Career tributes, submitted by ardiethepenguin and Regieturtle!**

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><p><span>Hayden Williams, District 3 Male POV<span>

"Hayden?" I feel a sharp prod in my arm and look up.

"What?" I ask, feeling a little dazed after resurfacing from my thoughts.

"You were in a daydream." My sister says, a small smile on her face. "Your toast has probably gone soggy now."

I peer down at my breakfast and pick up the slice of toast at the corner. And just as my sister said, the toast flops down, all soggy where the butter melted into it. It tears as I hold it and drops onto my plate, crumbs splattering on the table. I reach to swipe them up into my cupped hands and brush them onto my palms, then empty them on my plate.

My sister laughs light-heartedly. "What were you thinking of then? It must have been something interesting if you let your toast go cold and soggy, you usually eat in in seconds."

I shrug.

"Were you thinking about the Reaping today?" She asks. My sister is seventeen, two years older than I am, and much more popular. She has quite a pretty face and a lot of boys seem to like her, but she already has a boyfriend who she has been with for years now. She has lots of friends too. I only have two; Kain and Lily, but I wouldn't swap them for anyone else. As for a girlfriend, I don't have one either, but that's not just because I'm quite shy, but because I am gay too. My Mother and sister don't mind that I'm gay, but my Father did and when he found out he went ballistic and pretty much disowned me. He actually said "_no son of mine is gay!", _so I guess that meant that I was no longer his son anymore seeing that I was gay. My parents argued about it for days, but eventually when it became clear that Father wasn't going to give in, Mother left him and we moved to a new house. I like this house better, I think, my room is bigger and my Father isn't here to give me disapproving looks.

I shrug. "I guess so. My name is in there an extra time than last year."

"But that doesn't mean you'll be Reaped." My sister says gently. "There are tons of other kids who have their names in their over twenty times!"

"What about you?" I ask.

She frowns. "Erm, maybe about six or seven times? Something like that."

"Are _you_ worried?" I question her, peering carefully at her expression through my glasses.

"Um, I guess I am a little bit." She replies, then looks at my sodden toast and sighs. "Do you want another slice of toast?"

I nod and she gets up, taking my plate with her. I follow her with my eyes, watching as she cuts another slice of bread and puts in under the grill. I can make toast fine by myself, but I can never get it as golden as my sister can, she's a bit of a perfectionist like that. You can see it in her bedroom too; it's always spotlessly clean with all of her books lined up neatly in alphabetical order and her clothes tidily folded in her drawers. Not that I have looked in her drawers by myself, she showed me once when she needed help deciding on what to wear to her boyfriend's birthday meal with his parents. I think she thought that because I was gay, I liked clothes and all other girly stuff. That isn't the case, but I didn't tell her that, I didn't want to hurt her feelings or anything; I think she likes talking to me about girly things.

My sister hands me a plate with the freshly made toast and the smell is so inviting that I barely have time to thank her before I take a huge bite out of it. The toast crunches between my teeth and the sweet taste of melting butter fills my mouth. Wow, I love toast so much.

The doorbell rings as I'm finishing the last bite of my toast and my sister runs to answer the door. Moments later, my best friend Kain walks into the kitchen, dressed in a smart shirt and dark trousers. His mother always insists on him dressing up for the Reaping and he complains every year about how tight the trousers are.

"Hey, Hayden." Kain says, leaning against the yellow painted wall. "You ready to go to the Reaping?"

I wipe the toast crumbs from my mouth and stand up from the chair. "Yeah, are we meeting Lily?"

Kain nods. "She said she'll wait for us at the end of her street because we pass it on the way."

"Ok." I say, running out of the room and slipping into my shoes. My sister is standing on the bottom stair of the staircase, brushing the tangles out of her long dark hair.

"You going to the Reaping then?" She asks. I nod. "I'll see you later then, I'm going to walk down with Mom and Corren." _Corren_ is her boyfriend, by the way.

I give my sister a quick hug before departing from the house. Kain and I walk down the street, making small talk about the Reaping and he tells me about what his sister did at the weekend. Kain's sister is quite reckless and a bit of a rebel, she likes to...sleep around, as Kain says. Apparently she thought she was pregnant at the weekend, but it turned out to be a false alarm.

As we pass the street that Lily lives on, she's there and spots us, waving frantically as she runs over.

"Hey you guys!" She says, squeezing between us and linking one arm through mine and the other through Kain's. "Oh my gosh, I am sooo nervous!"

"Yeah, you sound it…" Kain says sarcastically, earning himself a nudge in the ribs from Lily's elbow.

Lily turns to me. "What about you, Hayden? Nervous for the Reaping?"

I shrug. "I suppose. Who knows what will happen?"

Estella Clayworth, District 3 Female POV

I knock on the glass door and wait for my physics teacher to wave me in. He looks up from his book, his tiny frames balancing precariously on the end of his nose and upon noticing me standing outside, he beckons me in. I nudge open the door and walk in, wincing as the door slams shut behind me. I really hate that door…

"That door is awful, isn't it?" Mr Parry says, chewing his bottom lip. "I was thinking that we could launch a project in class to design something to stop that from making such a loud crash when it closes. It would give the class a chance to use what we've been learning about momentum to create something practical. What do you think?"

"Sure, sounds good." I answer, opening up my satchel and digging around for my assignment. I find it under my mountain of textbooks and pull it out. "Oh, I finished the essay you set last lesson."

"Already?" Mr Parry seems surprised, his eyes scanning over the first page of the essay as I hand it to him. "Hm, this seems good so far, I look forward to reading the rest."

"What are you reading?" I ask, pointing to the open book on his desk.

"Oh, this?" He picks up the book. "It's just an advanced theory about weather patterns. It's quite complex really, I doubt you'd be able to understand it straight away, maybe in a year or two."

"Try me." I smirk. "Have you got a spare copy?"

My Parry nods. "Over on that shelf- the second one down. You're welcome to borrow it, I'd love to see how much of it you understand."

I walk over to the shelf and take the book. It's quite thick and when I put it in my satchel, I instantly feel the pull on my shoulder. "Thanks, Mr Parry."

He shakes his head. "No, no, call me Seamus. We're not in class, so I'd prefer to keep things a little more informal. You have quite an adult brain and when I talk to you I feel as if I'm talking to a fellow physicist, so there is no need for formality in these matters."

"If you insist." I say, holding back the urge to laugh at his name. _Seamus_! He really does _not_ suit that name at all, it adds at least five years to his age.

"Yes, yes." Mr Parry, I mean _Seamus_, says. "Although don't tell any of the other students, I'd still like to be called Mr Parry in lessons."

"Of course." I reply. "Well, it's the Reaping, so I'd best get off. Thanks for the book though!"

"Good luck with the Reaping, Estella." He says back. "Goodbye."

I nod and walk towards the door. I get distracted looking at one of the particles models on the shelves that I don't even notice the door opening, so I walk straight into it.

"Ouch!" I cry out, rubbing my forehead.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry!" A boy says, his voice filled with worry. I look up and see that the boy is Jason, who is ranked second in the class (I'm first, of course).

"You could have knocked me out, idiot." I snarl, pushing past him and storming out of the room, my head throbbing where the door hit it.

Halfway down the corridor, I hear someone yelling my name. I stop and turn around to see Jason chasing after me.

"What do you want, Jason?!" I cross my arms across my chest. "If you're thinking about hitting me with another door, then I'd think again."

He stops in front of me, his cheeks flushed a bright red shade. "I'm sorry Estella, I really am. You were distracted by something and didn't see me coming in. But I—"

I cut him off. "Don't blame _me_! _You're_ the one who didn't see me! _You're_ the one who swung the door open _into my face_!"

"Okay, I'm sorry, it was all my fault, I admit." He says meekly. "But I really didn't mean to, it was an accident. I swear it was."

"Whatever." I roll my eyes and turn my back on him, walking fast along the corridor.

"Estella, wait!" Jason calls after me, but this time I don't stop. "Estella!"

As I reach the exit of the building, I'm slowed down as my bag gets caught on the door handle. Huffing with frustration, I try to yank my bag free, but it stays stuck.

"You stupid bag!" I scream angrily, tugging on it.

"Whoa, calm down." I look to see that Jason has caught up with me. "Here, let me."

I refuse to let him help at first, swatting his hand away, but after another failed attempt to free my bag, I reluctantly give in. With a face as strong as thunder, I watch as Jason smoothly unhooks my bag from the handle, making it look so easy. And as he hands it to me, his hand brushes against mine. I quickly jerk my hand away from his, but I can see that Jason has blushed again.

"Um, Estella…"

I put my satchel over my shoulder, ignoring Jason's gaze. "Bye."

"Estella, wait, please." Jason grabs my arm, his fingers dig lightly into my skin.

"Get off me!" I pull my arm from his grasp.

"Sorry…" Jason says. "I was erm, wondering if you would erm…like to erm, go out some time?"

"No, I would not." I reply bluntly.

Jason's face drops. "Oh…do you already have a boyfriend?"

"No, I do not." I say. "And nor do I ever intend to have one."

Jason's jaw drops. "Are you a _lesbian_?"

I shake my head. "No, I am not a lesbian!"

"But, but…I don't understand…"

"I'm not interested in a relationship, with neither boys nor girls, okay?"

"What?" Jason looks confused.

I roll my eyes and sigh heavily. "I thought you were meant to be intelligent, Jason."

"I am!" He protests. "I'm second in the class. I just don't understand why you don't ever want a boyfriend, but aren't a lesbian. I don't get it."

I let out a frustrated squeal. "I'm a-sexual, okay?! DO YOU GET IT NOW?!"

But all I get in reply is a look of pure shock.

* * *

><p>Slipping into my shoes, I walk out the front door and shut it behind me. The key turns with a sharp click as I lock the door.<p>

"Hey, Estella."

I turn around sharply, my long ebony hair whipping around like a cape. There is Jason, standing outside my house, his hands stuffed into his pockets.

"What do you want now?!" I snap as I walk speedily past him. "I've got to get to the Reaping."

"I'll walk with you." He says, jogging up beside me.

"I'd rather you didn't." I say, nudging him away with my sharp elbow. "Go and hassle someone else."

"But I don't like anyone else like you." He persists. "In class you always impress me with your intelligence, you're so clever and I wish I could think like you do."

"Life is tough." I reply. "Now leave me alone."

"But—"

All I can think is thank goodness I live pretty near the centre of District Three because I cannot stand another second with this idiot. I much preferred him when he used to sit quietly in class, staring at me in wonder as I presented my latest research. Now he is just annoying. Why do boys always get like this? They're completely normal up until they hit their mid-teens and then almost over-night they become obsessed with shoving their tongues down girls' throats. It's disgusting. That's one of the reasons why I am a-sexual; because boys are complete idiots after puberty. Girls are just as bad too, although not myself of course. I made this decision about being a-sexual when I was eleven, after a boy tried to plant a soggy kiss on my lips, and I swore never to go anywhere near the male species again. Or the girls either because all the girls my age are just slutty idiots.

Upon reaching the Reaping, I manage to lose Jason in the crowds and I quickly sign in, heading over to the sixteen year old girl section. A few of the girls give me peculiar looks as I stand beside them and I catch someone whispering something about a _'teacher's pet'_.

"Well I'd rather be intelligent than be a dumb whore." I say deliberately loud enough so that the girls next to me can hear.

"_Excuse me_?" One of the girls says to me. "Did you just call me a whore?"

"Yup." I reply. "And before you start calling me names again, I'm just gonna say that if you get reaped for the Hunger Games, I don't think wearing your skirt _that_ short will help, whereas having a decent brain, like I have, will."

The girl goes to retort, her face flushed with both anger and embarrassment, but she is cut off by the sound of the Capitol music. Everyone turns their attention to the stage as our escort strides confidently onto the stage.

After a short speech and the general crap that is presented to us each year, the escort moves to stand behind the first reaping bowl, where hundreds of slips of paper are piled high. District Three has a lot of teenagers, I observe.

"Ladies first! The escort announces, swiping up the top slip and strolling over to the microphone. "And our female tribute is… Estella Clayworth!"

The girls beside me erupt into laughter. "Not so confident now, are you Estella? Haha!"

I flash them a sour look. "Keep laughing. I'll look forward to wiping those smug smiles off your fat faces."

Hayden Williams, District 3 Male POV

The Reaping is busy as it always is; I often forget just how many people live in this District, but every year I am reminded once more. If I had it my way, I would live in a District with only my Mother, sister, Kain and Lily. But of course, nothing ever goes my way.

Sensing my nervousness, Kain grabs me by the shoulder and presses me into a quick hug. I hug him back hard, clenching his shirt in my fist so when we pull apart, the back of his shirt is slightly crumpled.

One behind another, Lily, Kain and I sign in. I wince as the needle prods my finger and a drop of my blood drips on the paper.

"I've got to go now, but I'll see you guys after the Reaping." Lily says, giving both Kain and I a quick hug. "Good luck, but I don't think either of you will be picked, I have a gut feeling."

"I wouldn't trust Lily's gut feelings." Kain jokes to cover his growing nerves. "Remember when her gut told her that we wouldn't be caught spying on my sister?"

Lily scowls. "Don't offend my gut! That was a one-off, okay? I have never been wrong any other time!"

Kain just shakes his head and pulls me by the arm over to where the fifteen year old boys are meant to stand. I watch Lily disappear into the rows of girls, her face still in an angry pout. That's one thing about Lily that I really admire; she never backs down and never lets anyone override her opinion. I often find myself wishing that I was a little more like her.

Kain and I stand together in silence as the escort talks on the stage about the Capitol and how 'wonderful' it is and all of that nonsense. As the girl's name is chosen, I bite my lip, praying that it isn't Lily.

"Estella Clayworth!"

I feel a massive sigh of relief wash over me as Lily is in the clear. I don't know Estella, but she seems pretty stern as she walks onto the stage. Her long dark hair matches the thunderous look on her face. I feel sorry for whoever ends up being reaped with her.

"And our male tribute this year is…"

I suck in a sharp breath.

"Kain Rhinestone!"

My heart shatters at the sound of my best friend's name. I stare in shock as Kain begins to walk bravely up to the stage, his hands closed in tight fists and his head facing forwards, trying not to cry. I follow him out with my chest tight and the feeling of tiny flecks of glass stabbing into my heart. I can't lose Kain, not after all he has done for me. Not after all the nights he sat with me as I cried over my Father disowning me because I was gay. Not after everything.

Before I realise what I'm doing, I sprint down the path, dodging the Peacekeepers that try to grab me. I push Kain to the side just as he reaches the stairs, and fling myself in front.

"I volunteer!"

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><p><strong>AN- Ooh, a non-Career volunteer... Do you think it was kind of Hayden to volunteer for Kain, or is it an act of reckless thinking? I'm sure we can guess what Estella will think of it... Speaking of Estella, how do you think she will cope in the arena that 'cannot be solved'? After all, isn't intelligence that the Capitol are trying to destroy in these Games?**

**Please let me know what you thought of these two, I really enjoyed writing for both of them. I hope I did I good enough job of writing for them, if I didn't then I will go and take cover now... Thanks to all who have reviewed so far, keep them coming in please!**

**Next up we are back to our final Career District, number Four! These tributes will add some interest to the Career pack...**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**


	5. District Four Reapings

**A/N- Ah, sorry for the late update again, I have been so busy the past few days and haven't had a lot of time to write! Alas, I am done now, so please enjoy the District Four Reapings and thanks to FoxfaceFan1 and LokiThisIsMadness for submitting these great tributes!**

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><p><span>Sawyer Phillips (17) District 4 Male POV<span>

Today I am feeling pretty good. Tossing aside the duvet, I spring out of bed and rush over to the curtains, drawing them back with such clarity that a gust of air sends a few sheets of paper flying off the desk, where they slowly flutter down to the carpet. The sun pours into the room, filling it from top to bottom with a golden light that sets a warm tingle in the air.

"What a beautiful day for a Reaping." I say out loud to no-one in particular, peering down on the District from my bedroom window. Personally, I think I have the best view in the entire house; I can see straight down to the main centre of the District, where the Reaping is being set up this very moment. I see clusters of Peacekeepers walking around, some carrying electronic pads and yelling out orders. I can't hear what they are saying exactly, but I'm guessing it has something to do with one of the stage lights that looks quite wonky…

Tired of watching the set-up, I turn away from the window and snatch up the fallen sheets of paper, putting them back on my desk. I then grab the first shirt I see, pull it on and stride out of my room, heading downstairs.

It seems that I'm the last one up in the house because when I enter the kitchen, everyone else is in there. By everyone else I mean my parents, Steffi (my five year old sister who is going through a phase of making pictures with her food) and Trish and Jackson, who are the fourteen year old twins of the family. Trish and Jackson aren't identical of course, what with one of them a being a girl and the other a boy, but they do have their similarities. Jackson told me once that he and Trish can read each other's minds and because I'm not a twin myself, I believed him. Of course I know now that it isn't true.

"Morning, Sawyer." My Mom says, her hands plunged into a sink of soapy water. Foamy soap suds climb up her arm as she attacks the dishes with a sponge. "You want breakfast? I can rustle you up some pancakes if you want."

"As tempting as a pile of your wonderful pancakes sound, I cannot stay for long." I reply.

Mom raises her eyebrows. "Is this Mac's annual Reaping warm-up thing again?"

I nod. "It is indeed."

My friend Mac is one of those guys who will use anything as an excuse to hold a party of some kind. He started doing this 'Annual Reaping Warm-Up' four years ago and since then it has become a sort of tradition for him and his friends. It usually entails some kind of game, most often 'spin the bottle', in order to get excited for the Reaping and let out any nerves anyone has. Not that many people are nervous for the Games, we are in a Career District after all, but as I said, Mac will use anything as an excuse.

"Okay, I'm off then." I say cheerfully, snatching up an apple from the fruit bowl and rubbing it on my shirt to shine it. "I'll see you at the Reaping."

"Bye bye, Sawyer!" Steffi says, waving her butter coated fingers. I wave back and see that she has made a flower out of her toast.

"Don't miss me too much." I laugh, ruffling up Trish and Jackson's hair as I pass them. Trish glares at me and I pull a tongue back at her, whilst Jackson throws a punch at my stomach which I swiftly avoid.

"Have a good time." Mom calls to me as I leave the room. "Just don't do anything stupid!"

I laugh, halfway out the front door. "As if I would, Mom!"

I shut the door and head down the street, the sun warm on my back as I make my way over to Mac's house. He doesn't live far, just a few streets down, so it isn't long before I'm knocking on his front door.

"Sawyer!" Mac grins as he opens the door to me. "Come on in, everyone else is already here."

"I haven't missed anything, have I?" I ask, walking through to Mac's lounge where I see our other friends scattered about on the carpet.

Mac shakes his head. "Nope, we waited for you."

"I _am_ worth waiting for." I laugh, sitting myself down next to Athena.

"Hey, Sawyer." Athena says. "You ok?"

I nod. "Yeah, what are we playing today then?"

Athena rolls her eyes. "Spin the bottle –again."

Mac walks in holding a bottle. "But it's the best game, right?" He places in the centre of the circle. "I'll spin."

He spins the bottle and we all watch it closely as it spins, before coming to a stop in front of Cade.

"Cade." Mac says to him. "Truth or dare?"

Cade thinks for a moment. "Dare."

"Ok." Mac says. "Your dare is…."

"Kiss Mac's Mom on the lips!" Athena shouts out, earning a roar of a laugh from the others, including myself.

Cade gets to his feet. "Sure. I always thought Mac's Mom was fit."

Mac's face turns red as Cade swaggers out of the room. "That's my Mom! It's disgusting…"

Athena laughs. "C'mon, spin the bottle again, Cade might be a while."

Mac takes the bottle and spins it again. This time it stops in front of Athena. She sighs. "Truth."

"Have you ever fancied anyone in this room?" I ask her.

Athena nods immediately. "Yeah."

There's a wolf-whistle from Mac. "Who?!"

Athena shakes her head defiantly. "I've already answered my question, you can't ask me another one."

"But I want to know who you fancied!" Mac protests.

"Chill, dude." I laugh. "It was obviously me who she fancied."

Cade walks in, his face a bright cherry colour. "Who fancied Sawyer?"

"Athena." Mac replies. "Whoa, what happened to your face?"

"Your Mom." Cade says, sitting down. "I'm telling you, she is hot!"

Mac shudders. "Ew, spare me the details, that's my Mom you're talking about. Anyway, let's go again." He spins the bottle. It lands on me.

"Truth or dare?" Athena asks, her green eyes staring wickedly into mine.

There's no need to think about it, I always choose dare. Always.

"Dare."

Athena beckons the others and they all lean in, creating a wall out of their bodies that blocks me from hearing their discussion. I wait patiently for my dare, poking the carpet with my fingers.

"Ok, we've got it." Athena says as they all turn back to face me.

"What is it then?" I ask.

Athena looks at the others, then at me.

"Volunteer for the Hunger Games."

Galene Fulgora (18) District 4 Female POV

I open my eyes and stare up at the textured ceiling, swirling patterns collide with each other and make my eyes feel fuzzy as I try to distinguish one pattern from another. I've always hated the ceilings in my parents' house; I think because my Mom owns the library, she thinks she should replicate parts of the elegant building into her own home. I can see features of the library when I walk through the house, from the burgundy velvet curtains with the gold-threaded ties, to the spiraling wall-lamps that only give off a dim bubble of light, and finally the horrific textured ceilings. Just because she owns a library doesn't mean she has to live in one.

As I tear my gaze from the hypnotic ceiling pattern, Glass stirs in his sleep, tugging the duvet closer to his chiseled jaw. Glass and I are engaged, he proposed last year after winning the Hunger Games. It was an easy Victory for him, most of the Career pack were killed quite early on (besides Glass of course) and so he had little competition as the outer District tributes weren't so great either. Glass is pretty modest though, he doesn't really like to think of his Games as 'easy', but I think that he had it simple enough as far as Hunger Games go. However this year, I don't think the Games will be easy at all.

The twists for the Games aren't usually told to Panem before they begin unless it is a Quarter Quell like it will be in six years. However, someone working as a Gamemaker in the Capitol, who is a good friend of Glass, found out about this year's twist and told Glass, who told me and then I told my Dad and with him being a trainer at the Career Academy, he spilt the news to everyone there. The twist this year is that the arena doesn't have a solution, so tributes cannot use it to their advantage and out-wit the Capitol. Naturally, being a Career District, most of the trainees are extremely talented physically and, according to my Dad, it would be a waste to send them into the Games in such a 'twisted' arena when they would be much better as trainers for future Victors. This was seen as a brilliant plan and many members of the Academy felt as if District Four had beaten the Capitol at their own game by outsmarting them. And my Dad agreed...until he found out that the trainers had nominated me to volunteer.

During my training years, I was never one of the best fighters, nor was I one of the worst. I was, you could say, average for a Career. So average that I was placed exactly in the middle of the rankings. This was why they chose me to volunteer, because I was neither too good for the Games, nor not good enough. And according to the them, it was the most 'logical' conclusion. So I said yes. Not just because it was ungrateful to say no, but because it will give me a chance to fight for myself and show that I can do things just as well as Glass.

I slide slowly out of bed, cautiously so that I don't wake up Glass. My room is dimly lit, so I fumble around for some kind of footwear blindly, until I find some plimsoles and slide my feet into them. I'm creeping towards the door when I hear a mumble escaping from Glass' lips. I freeze.

"Where...you..going?" He says sleepily, his face half-covered by the cream duvet.

"Just getting some water." I reply simply, opening the door. "I'll be back soon."

Glass murmurs a reply, before burying his head back into the duvet. I sigh, shaking my head, and head for the bathroom.

There is an automatic light switch in my bathroom, so upon opening the door, the room is filled with a gentle glow. I close the door behind me and quickly lock it to ensure my privacy. But I'm not bothered about anyone walking in when I'm in the shower because plenty of people have seen me naked; I'm more bothered about someone seeing what I'm doing.

I open up the bathroom cupboard and root around, knocking over several bottles of face cream and other toiletries, until I finally find the small box of pills. My fingers clasp around them protectively, as if they could be snatched from my grip at any moment. As I read over the instructions on the box, butterflies start to flutter in the pit of my stomach. What if this is the wrong decision?

"Oh shut up, Galene." I tell myself firmly. "Just do it already."

Without leaving myself time to rethink my decision, I tear open the box and pop out the pills. Grabbing the glass at the side of the sink, I fill it up with some water and place the pills in the palm of my hand, raising it to my pursed lips.

"Galene?" There comes a knocking at the door and I jump, spilling some of the water over my hand. I curse as the liquid runs cold over my skin. "It's Glass. You ok in there?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?" I reply smoothly.

"You've just been in there for a while now." Glass says through the door. "And I heard you talking to yourself. What have you 'got to do already'?"

My eyes dart around the bathroom, searching for something. "Oh, I need to erm.." I spot a pair of small scissors on the window ledge. "Cut my hair."

"Your hair?" Glass sounds baffled. "What's wrong with it?"

"Oh, there's just a strand that keeps falling in my eyes and I want to get rid of it." I lie casually. "No major deal."

"Oh, ok.." Glass says. "Are you sure it's just that?"

"Yes yes, don't worry. I'm perfectly fine." I say. "Why don't you do something useful and make me a coffee, eh?"

Glass sighs. "All right, black coffee?"

"Of course."

I wait, listening as he walks along the corridor, then hear his heavy footsteps down the staircase, where they fade out and leave me in silence again. Once I'm sure that he has gone, I return my attention to the pills, which have nearly been crushed in the fist I never realised that I had made. Shaking off the water droplets from my hand, I retrieve the glass of water and bring the pills back to my lips.

Without further hesitation, I open my mouth and empty the pills in, swallowing them quickly down with a gulp of water.

I drink the rest of the water and rinse the glass, returning it to the side of the sink. The box still lies open on the window ledge and I take it in my hand, crushing it with a strong fist. But when I toss it into the bin, the words on the box are still readable, staring up at me like an innocent child. _Exactly_ like an innocent child in fact.

And those words are: Abortion Pills.

* * *

><p>Despite having being last year's Victor and this year's District Four mentor, Glass still insists on walking me to the Reaping. Despite not mentioning it, I think he is still dubious about what happened in the bathroom earlier. I know we are engaged and that because of that we should be telling each other everything, but I have absolutely no intention to tell him the truth about this morning. Because I know exactly how he'll react; he will go mad at me for aborting his baby.<p>

I found out that I was pregnant about two weeks ago, before I was chosen to volunteer for the Hunger Games. I was skeptical about it at first, I wasn't sure that I particularly wanted a child at this age, but I didn't instantly want an abortion either. It was only when I found out that I was going to go into the Games that I knew what I had to do. Thankfully, I hadn't told anyone about the pregnancy, so I knew it would be a simple task and one that I could move on from. And now that I have done it, I feel as if a terrible weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

When we arrive at the Reaping, Glass is called over by the Mayor, so he gives me a quick kiss on the lips, mumbling an apology, then runs off where he is needed. I quite like being engaged to a Victor, it certainly has given me a lot more notice from other people in the District, although a lot of it isn't good. Glass is a decent looking guy, so many of the girls are jealous of my position.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" My Dad asks for about the twentieth time since we left the house. "You don't have to volunteer, I can have a word with the other trainers and tell them not to penalise you for not doing it."

"You'll achieve nothing." I say to him and it comes out sounding harsher than I wanted it to. "I mean, when have the trainers ever taken your opinion into consideration?"

He can't say anything in reply.

"Exactly." I say. "If they didn't listen to you when they chose me to volunteer, then why would they listen to you now?"

"Maybe they will, if I explain.."

"Leave it, Dad." I tell him. "I'm volunteering, ok? Shouldn't you be happy that I want to be a Victor?"

"Well.."

"Whatever, I need to sign in." I roll my eyes and walk off.

After signing in, I go to stand in my allocated place and wait for the Reaping to begin. Glass spots me from his seat at the side of the stage and flashes me a smile. I smile back, though I swear I can see a small box in his hand that looks like the one that came with the abortion pills. I shake my head, tossing aside the thought. Of course not, he is completely oblivious, right?

Throughout the rest of the Reaping, I keep all thoughts of unborn babies out of my mind, even when I volunteer. All I keep saying to myself is that I need to win these Games not only for the trainers who nominated me, but for myself. Surely this won't be too difficult? After all, what is so bad about an unsolvable arena anyway?

Sawyer Phillips (17) District 4 Male POV

"I bet he won't do it." I hear Athena whispering to Mac as we wait in the queue to sign in.

"But he's never turned down a dare." Mac whispers back, a hint of concern in his voice.

"Yeah, but this is a bit extreme, don't you think?" Athena replies. "It would be stupid if he did it."

"Sawyer isn't stupid." Mac says. "Reckless maybe, but not stupid."

I'm at the front of the queue now, so I hold out my finger to be pricked. I barely feel anything as the needle prods my finger, my thoughts focused on my challenge. I have to volunteer, there is no way I'm failing a dare. I have never refused a dare and I don't intend on doing so today. Besides, this isn't that much of a big deal, right? People volunteer for the Games all the time.

Mac, Cade and I say goodbye to Athena, who walks to stand with the other girls. We're all the same age, so we stand together and wait for the escort to come on. He soon enters the stage looking as cheerful as ever, a huge cheesy grin plastered on his heavily made-up face. I will never understand why Capitol men wear make-up, it looks ridiculous.

"What's with the eyeliner?" Mac comments to Cade and I.

"Don't you mean _guy_-liner." I smirk. Cade and Mac cover their mouths as they try to contain their chuckles.

As the escort blabbers on about the Games, we each take it in turns to point out something stupid that the escort is doing or wearing. Cade points out the way he wiggles his hips when he walks and Mac says something about his 'feminine hands'. I'm trying so hard not to laugh that I nearly miss the female tribute walking onto the stage. She's a volunteer, Galene Ful-something or other. I can't say I recognise her from the training centre, but she looks in good shape, so I'm guessing that she's pretty handy when it comes to weapons.

"And our male tribute this year is..." The escort elaborately plucks out a slip of paper. "Re-"

"I volunteer!" I yell, stepping out.

"_What?!_" Mac gasps. "_Are you serious?_"

"Oh come on, Mac." I roll my eyes. "I thought you knew me well. Of course I wouldn't turn down a dare."

"But but-"

"Now if you don't mind, I've got a stage to get to." I laugh, turning away from my friend and jogging up to the stage. As I reach the stage, I'm asked for my name and I say it clearly into the microphone. As my arm is thrust into the air by the escort, who really does have very feminine hands, I look down to my friends below. Mac and Cade seem to be over their initial shock and are waving hysterically at me, whooping and cheering loudly. But when I look down at Athena, all she does is shake her head at me and mouths the word: idiot.

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><p><strong>AN- Hmm, two different tributes there... What did you think of them? I thought it was very interesting to write about Galene, especially with her aborting her baby, it isn't anything I have come across before. So what did you think about that? And with Glass being her mentor, is her secret likely to come out? I know he won't be pleased if he finds out...  
>And what about Sawyer? Do you think it was stupid of him to volunteer? Is he a bit naive, or does he realise what he has gotten himself into?<br>**

**Please review and let me know what you thought. I really enjoyed writing for these two tributes and I hope I wrote them accurately enough!**

**District Five next...What will our next two tributes be like?**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**


	6. District Five Reapings

**A/N- It's time for District Five now, with two contrasting tributes kindly submitted by Flintlightning and ElementalEvolution. Enjoy!**

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><p><span>Maverick Monarch (18), District 5 Male POV<span>

"Oh, there you are, Maverick."

I look up from my book to see my sister, Victory, standing in the doorway with her hands perched on her hips and her long blonde like a cape around her shoulder. Victory by name, Victory by nature. She won the Hunger Games three years ago, so it's considered quite a coincidence that her name was Victory. But it was very much deliberate. Our Mother intentionally called her daughter Victory because she was almost certain that one day she would win the Games. You'd expect that sort of behaviour from a Career District, not District Five, but the truth is that our family were from a Career District; District Two to be precise.

I was born and raised in District Two; Victory and I were enrolled in the training academy for the Hunger Games, preparing for the day that we'd volunteer and hopefully win the Games. It was our parents' dreams to become Victors when they were our age, but our Father was injured and had to resign, becoming a Peacekeeper instead. And our Mother was all ready to volunteer in her final reaping year, but she fell pregnant with Victory and wasn't allowed to compete. So that dream became mine and Victory's future.

Three years ago, the same year that Victory volunteered for and won the Games, our Father was promoted to Head Peacekeeper of District Five, so we all moved. I was a little sceptical to begin with because things were so different in an outlying District, like there was no training academy and people generally feared the Games, not relished them as they did in Two. However, I soon got over it and trained at home instead with my Mother and Victory's guidance. In a way I think I actually prefer living in District Five because I'm in the minority, training wise, so there isn't as much competition. Also, the people here are much more focused on education and I like that, I always wished that I could have spent more time at school, but living in a Career District took some of that away. I still went to school there, but no-one really seemed to care about it; everything was more centred on training for the Games.

"You spend _way_ too much time in here." Victory says, referring to the library that I'm sitting in.

"If I remember correctly, _you_ were the one who got it built for me." I point out.

Victory rolls her eyes. "Yeah, because I know you love reading. I didn't mean _live_ in here!"

"I do not live in here." I reply. "I simply come here when I want some time to relax."

"Which is all of the time…" She mutters, picking at her fingernails.

"Not _all_ of the time." I correct her. "If that was the case then this room would smell of perspiration and faecal matter because there are no personal hygiene facilities in here."

"_Perspi-what_?" Victory frowns, her fair eyebrows drawn tightly inwards.

"It's a synonym for sweat." I inform her, turning the page of my book and scanning my eyes down the writing. I'm not really reading it; I find it difficult to concentrate on reading when someone is watching me.

"What's a synonym?" Victory asks, confused.

I sigh, lifting my eyes from the book. "It means 'another word for something'. I have told you this before, why do you keep forgetting?"

She shrugs. "I don't remember all of that academic stuff, it's useless to me now."

"Knowledge is the most useful thing in the world." I say, placing a bookmark in between the pages of my book so I don't lose where I read up to. One thing I hate is losing a page in a book, it takes ages to find again and you end up wasting time that could be spent reading even more.

"Maybe it's useful to a genius like you." She says, mocking my intelligence again. "But not to me. Intelligence didn't win me the Hunger Games, physical ability did."

"Well that's lucky for me, isn't it?" I say, walking across the room. "I have both."

I flash my sister a smug smile and squeeze past her through the doorway. She darts out a hand to ruffle my hair, but I dodge smoothly to the side, missing her attack.

"Nice dodge." She observes.

"I know." I reply, laughing as I stroll down the corridor to my bedroom.

As I open the door to my room, I snatch up the nearest pencil from my desk and turn around sharply, throwing the piece of stationery towards Victory. The pencil cuts cleanly through the air, heading straight towards Victory, before hitting its target. Victory gasps in shock as the tip of the pencil collides with the top button of her blouse then clatters to the floor.

"I hope you weren't aiming for my eye." Victory says, picking up the pencil.

"Nope." I shake my head. "I was aiming for that button on your shirt."

"Well you certainly hit dead-centre." She says, still a little startled.

"I always do." I smirk. "Some say my aim is unequivocal."

"And _I_ say that you should use words that people actually _understand_."

I cock my head to the side. "But where's the fun in that?"

Victoria Landly (15), District 5 Female POV

I wake to the sound of irregular snores. A rippling, yet almost bellowing sound of low grumbles from the back of a throat, followed by sudden and sharp intakes of breath, each one startling me even though I know they are coming. The snoring traces back to Roar, the local bully and hard-core thug who wears an eye-patch across his left eye, claiming to have lost it during a fight with a Peacekeeper earlier this year. Most of the people were dumb and naïve enough to believe his preposterous tale, but I knew he was lying all along because he was with me on the night he claimed to have had this fight and he was certainly nowhere near any Peacekeepers, that's for sure… Not to mention that I've seen him without the eye-patch on and he still very much has his left eye, and a rather dull eye it is actually, a dim grey without so much of a fleck of kindness. No wonder he wanted to pretend he'd lost it.

Roar stirs in his sleep, grumbling to himself as he rolls onto his back. He always does this before he wakes, I have observed.

"What time is it?" He asks groggily, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. Both of his eyes of course because he never lost one. Oh what fun I would have if I exposed the truth about him! However, despite the humiliation it would bring to him, I would lose my most promising customer, which is something I don't want. Roar has become a regular client recently, taking full advantage of my…_services _almost twice every week. So losing him would mean no more bread for me seeing that his payments are what have allowed me to afford a luxury such as a small loaf of bread each week.

"It's nine o'clock." I tell him, glancing at the old clock that hangs wonkily on the wall. I'm surprised that it's still working to be honest; the hands are looking dangerously close to sticking, but I can't afford to buy a replacement.

"Shit." Roar swears, tossing the thin duvet off himself and leaping out of the bed. A sudden gush of cool air hits my side where the duvet has been lifted and I quickly grab it back, pulling it tightly towards my body to keep in the heat. That's another thing I cannot afford: heating.

"What's the problem?" I ask, propping myself onto an elbow.

Roar doesn't look at me as he hastily gets dressed into last night's clothes; the smell of cigarette smoke still clutches to the fibres of the material. "It's the Reaping today, remember?"

"Oh." I say passively, running my fingers through my hair. "I thought you didn't care about that?"

"I don't." He replies, pulling on a sock. "But the place will be swarming with Peacekeepers so I've got to keep low."

"Why don't you keep low here?" I suggest, adopting a husky tone that I tend to use when trying to seduce someone. "There's plenty of space in the bed to hide. Or there's the closet if you fancy a…change of scenery."

Roar seems tempted at first, then shakes his head. "Nice try, Vic, but you've got to go to the Reaping and I'm not overly fond of the idea of the lying in your bed alone whilst you're gone. I pay for you, not the duvet."

I roll my eyes. "Fine, don't stay. Although you are aware that I charge extra for the night before the Reaping?"

Scowling. Roar fumbles in his pocket and retrieves a handful of coins. He tosses them on the bed. "Keep the change. Happy Hunger Games."

And with that said, he exits through the door and slams it shut behind him. Then I'm alone once more. Just like I have been for the past two years since my parents abandoned me, the bastards. I can almost hear them in my head, telling me how disgusted they are with me. It's hardly _my_ fault that I have to sleep with guys to afford to live, it's _their_ fault. But ironically enough, I quite like my job actually. The pay is good and I get to hear all sorts of secrets that the guys mumble in their sleep or reveal to me when they're so drunk that they can barely stand. Sure there are disadvantages, but overall it isn't that bad a life. It could be worse; I could be in the Hunger Games.

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><p>Despite detesting both the Hunger Games and the people in my District, I end up going to the Reaping. I have no other choice really, I'm on the records so they'll know if I'm not there and I'll have a bunch of idiot Peacekeepers knocking on my door within minutes. And I really can't be bothered to deal with them; turning up to the Reaping being dragged by Peacekeepers isn't likely to attract more customers to my tiny house. Actually, it's more of a shack than a house…<p>

As I wait in line to sign in, I adjust my top, tugging its neck further down so that the top of my bra is showing. _That_ is how to get more customers.

At the front of the queue, I hold out my finger to be pricked and feel the sharp sting in the tip. I then walk away, sucking the tiny spot of blood from my finger.

The girls who I have to stand with see me approaching and almost simultaneously step to the side, edging away from me. A few of them mumble things quietly, but I manage to catch a few words. _Bitch. Prostitute. Disgusting. _The usual adjectives used to describe myself by the snotty girls of District Five.

I ignore them as the Reaping begins, but sneak in a few glares when they're not looking. As the escort drones on about the Capitol and all of that nonsense, I notice one of the boys across the way is staring at me, his eyes full of wonder at my large cup size. I flash him a wink and run my tongue lightly over my lips, teasing him. He winks back and I can picture see the drool dripping from the corner of his mouth as he scans my body. I'm just about to mouth something to him when I hear my name being called out.

My head turns so sharply that I hear my neck clicking.

"Victoria Landly!" The escort calls again.

I say nothing.

"She's here!" One of the girls near me shouts, pointing towards me.

When I show no intention of walking to the stage, a couple of Peacekeepers approach me, their large gloved hands grabbing both of my arms and pulling me from the crowd.

"Get your hands off me!" I scream, struggling in their tight grips. "Let me go you idiots!"

They say nothing and continue to drag me towards the stage. So I start to screech, high pitched screams ripping out from my throat and poisoning the air. I desperately try to free my arms, but the hands grip tighter.

When I'm eventually pulled up to the stage, I have to be held by the Peacekeepers as the escort moves onto the male tribute. And as the escort walks past me, I spit at his feet. There is no way that I'm going to be a tribute for these petty Games. Not if I can help it.

Maverick Monarch (18), District 5 Male POV

"I am so proud of you, you know that?" My Mother says, rubbing my arm fondly. "You're doing exactly what _I_ wanted to do when I was your age."

"I've already done it." Victory points out. "Where's my praise?"

Mother shakes her head. "You've had your year, let Maverick have his. It's not all about you, Victory."

Victory rolls her eyes. "I know…"

"Good." Mother turns back to me. "So, are you ready to volunteer?"

I nod confidently, but inside I'm quite anxious for this all to be over. Victory said that when she volunteered, it was the most exciting thing she has ever done in her life. But somehow I don't think I'll be having the same feeling. It's not that I don't want to volunteer, because I really do; I've been training since I was only seven years old; it's just now that the day is here, I want to get it over and done with as quickly as possible. The sooner this day is over, the sooner I'll be in the arena and winning the Games. That's the plan anyway.

"Right, I've got to go and sign in now." I say, glancing over to the desk where the queue has shrunk quite dramatically in the last few minutes. "I'll see you before I leave for the Capitol, ok?"

"Yes, of course." Mother says, giving me a quick hug. She isn't normally one for hugs, so this comes as quite a surprise to me, but I hug her back nevertheless. "Good luck and remember to enjoy the moment."

"Yeah, it's like the best feeling ever!" Victory adds. "Actually, the feeling of becoming Victor is better, but this is close. Have fun, little brother, I'll see you later."

I say my goodbyes to my Mother and Victory, then my Father who comes over quickly. Being a Peacekeeper, he's not meant to be with us, but as he's the Head, he can get away with it. He wishes me luck, gives me a hearty slap on the back and waves me off as I sign in and go to stand at the back of the crowd.

My two best mates, Watt and Bugs have saved a spot for me to stand beside them, so I go over to them.

"Did you manage to finish that book I lent you?" I ask Watt. He and Bugs are avid readers like myself and they like to browse in my library at home, often borrowing several books at once. But they always bring them back, they're reliable like that.

"Yeah, it was really interesting." Watt replies. "I'm usually one who predicts the plot lines, but I didn't see that ending coming, did you?"

I shrug. "I had a close idea, Trev did seem a little suspicious, but I wasn't sure why. It was a pretty spectacular finale though, I've got to admit. Kept me thinking for days afterwards."

"Are you still volunteering?" Bugs asks.

I nod. "Of course."

We have no more time to chat because the Reaping begins. The girl who is chosen, Victoria Landly, the local prostitute, creates havoc when her name is called out and has to be physically dragged screaming up to the stage. Anyone would think that she didn't want to be Reaped, haha.

My moment finally comes when the escort reads out the male tribute and I step forwards, yelling "I volunteer!" as loudly as I can.

A few shock gasps echo around, but as I walk up to the stage, a couple of people recognise Victory as my sister and start nodding as if it was expected of me to volunteer. The escort points the microphone in my direction and I announce my name.

Then as soon as it's over and the crowd has cheered their last cheers, I feel a wave of relief that it's over. Now the real thing begins.

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><p><strong>AN- Hmm, two different tributes there, what did you think of them? Maverick may have lived in a Career District for the majority of his life, but will those last few years in Five prove to be a disadvantage for him in the Games, or does he have what it takes to be as good as the other Careers? And for Victoria, does she have any hidden skills that will enable her to do well in the Games, or is her behaviour and defiance blocking her chances?**

**Please review and let me know what you think of these two tributes. I must say I found Maverick very interesting to write, with him being an ex-Career training in an outside District. But I also found Victoria pretty fun to write because of her attitude to life and detestable personality. **

**District six next (I'm sure you all knew that anyway)... what will these next tributes be like? **

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**

**Oh and a quick note just to say that I am currently running a new 24 author collaboration with MistMirror and Blue Eyes Arch Angel and we have some spaces left if anyone is interested in joining. There is a link to the forum on my profile, so please take a look and all the details are inside there. I hope many of you are interested, and if not yourself, then feel free to inform a friend! Thanks!**


	7. District Six Reapings

**A/N- Welcome back! So sorry for the late update, I have been sooo busy lately and I've had a ton of work to do, so I couldn't find a lot of time to write. I'm sorry for the wait, but here are our District Six tributes, wonderfully created by GreenPokeGuy and Lupus Overkill!**

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><p><span>Garry "Fen" Fender (16), District 6 Male POV<span>

_Tap._

I'm drawn from my light sleep by the sound of gentle tapping on the glass of my bedroom window. I open my eyes slowly, cautious to introduce them back to the light, and I wipe away the moisture that acts like a blurred film over my sight.

_Tap. Tap._

With my eyebrows knitted together in a tight frown, I kick my legs out from under the duvet and slide out of bed, my feet cold against the bare wood as I walk over to the window. I pull aside the thin sheet used as a curtain and peer outside; through the dusty glass which is stained with droppings from passing birds. How they manage to aim their waste so that it hits windows is a mystery to me.

Just as I'm looking out of the window, a small stone comes hurtling towards the glass and my head jerks back in surprise. Muffled laughter sounds from below as I approach the window again and look down. Susie Gold stands outside my house, her long golden hair almost luminous in the limiting light and her eyes stare up at me like shining emeralds, glowing like the eyes of a cat. Susie and I have been friends for a few years now, but only recently have I realised that I'm in love with her.

Susie beckons me down, knowing not to shout up to me because she'd wake up my Mom, who needs as much sleep as she can get. I nod down to Susie and leave the window, quickly pulling on some proper clothes rather than the creased t-shirt and cotton pants that I wore to bed, before running down the stairs and out of the front door.

"What's up?" I ask Susie, feeling concerned. "It's barely morning."

"I know, isn't it great?!" She says gleefully, grabbing me by the arm. "C'mon."

Unaware of where we are going, I reluctantly allow Susie to pull me along as we run down the dusty path. Her grip on my arm is light, her fingers soft against my skin. We keep running until we reach the train station, a popular place for reckless teens to try daring stunts or for two teenagers to sit peacefully on the morning of the Reaping, which is exactly what Susie and I are doing now.

"Sit with me, Garry." Susie says, tapping her hand on the ground beside her. I do as she says and sit down, my legs hanging over the edge of the platform and my feet dangling dangerously close to the track. Normally I would feel nervous being this close to a train track, but I have nothing to fear because this is one of the old tracks which isn't used anymore, so the track has been turned off.

"So…" I break the silence between us. "Why did you wake me up so early to take me to an abandoned train track?"

Susie tilts her head backwards, gazing up at the dark sky. "I wanted you to watch the sunrise with me."

"Oh, okay." I reply, turning my gaze to the sky where I can see the top of the sun beginning to rise over the land, a fuzzy orange glow that will soon grow into a spectacular sunrise.

We sit quietly for the next few minutes, Susie's eyes set firmly on the sky ahead, whilst my eyes flicker over to her. I look at the smooth curve of her spine as she leans backwards and the way her hair falls down alongside it. And the way her green eyes are filled with such awe and wonder makes me feel warm inside, a little pleasant feeling that I wish I could hold onto forever.

As the sun begins to rise ever so slowly, I gradually creep my hand along the platform until my fingertips are millimetres away from Susie's. I want to reach out and take her hand, seize this beautiful moment, but something inside me holds me back. Maybe it's the fear of rejection; Susie seems to be oblivious to the fact that I'm in love with her and I'm certain she doesn't feel the same way, so I can't risk ruining our friendship over my own feelings. So instead of taking her hand, I decide otherwise and begin to retract my hand. However, I'm taken by surprise as Susie suddenly gasps with excitement and grabs my hand in her own.

"Wow, look at that!" She squeals in delight, pointing with her other hand towards the rising sun in the distance. "Isn't it amazing?!"

I tear my gaze from her to look at the sunrise and I almost gasp myself. It's a truly amazing sight, just as Susie said. The sun peaks up from horizon, sending the most vivid orange glow across the otherwise pale sky and basking the earth in a soft golden light that feels warm against my bare arms. The bright rays scatter across the vast expanse that stretches above us and it's as if we are alone, sitting beneath the ceiling of a golden pavilion. At least, that's what it feels like for me. But by the look of awe that is painted all over Susie's face, I can guess that she feels the same way.

After staring at the glorious sunrise for a few moments longer, Susie sighs in bliss and turns her head towards me, her green eyes alive and filled with pure happiness. But I cannot return her gaze with as much happiness as she shows to me. Because today is the Reaping; another reminder of my sister, Rose, who succumbed to the Games three years ago. She and I were always close; she was the typical caring older sister who liked to ruffle my hair and poke my arm, then pretend it was someone else. I'm past the crying over her, but I still miss her so much that some days I wake up and feel a hollow space where Rose used to be. And I know that space can never be filled again.

"It's ok, Garry." Susie says gently. "You don't have to pretend to be happy, I know what you must be thinking. I understand, I don't blame you."

"I'm fine, really." I assure her, even managing a weak smile. "I just miss her, that's all."

"Of course you do." She says, pulling me closer towards her. "It was horrid what happened, but things will get better."

"They will?"

She nods surely. "It's why I like to watch sunrises. They give me hope that things will get better."

It's as if the world has paused for a moment and Susie's words linger sweetly in the air between us. I clutch onto that sweetness, that flicker of hope and happiness, and I think, if people could store spoken words, I'd have a library filled with Susie's.

Tess Mercier (17), District 6 Female POV

I stare coldly into the mirror as I fasten the buttons of my blouse. It's a plain and simple grey, matched with a long black skirt that hangs just at the same level as my knees, leaving the rest of my legs exposed, which both seem to be substantially paler in colour when compared next to the ebony shade of my skirt. I'm not one in favour of fashion, I usually wear functional attire that is required for my job in one of the car factories, but on occasions such as the Reaping, it is expected to wear my best clothes. And so, my best clothes I must wear.

I reach for my comb and run it quickly through my short hair, bringing a little volume to the sides that had been flattened during my sleep. Once I'm satisfied that I appear presentable, I quietly leave my room and head to the kitchen for a brief breakfast before the Reaping begins.

When I walk into the room, I instantly pick up on how quiet it is. Not a single word is muttered as I take a mug from the table and fill it up with tea. My younger brother, Aran, looks up from his lap and flashes me a look of acknowledgment, showing that he notices my presence. Aran is thirteen, so four years younger than me, yet he stands over a head taller than me and makes no effort to stop reminding me that I'm lacking in height. However, I do not think 5"5 should be considered terribly short, but when compared to some of the near-giants in the District, I suppose I'm like a pixie to them.

"Tess." My mother walks over, her long fingers tapping on the side of her chipped mug. "Stand up so I can see what you're wearing."

I mentally roll my eyes, because if I did it for real then I'd only cause unnecessary tension, and reluctantly stand up. Mother gives me a sweeping glance, her critical eyes scanning over my outfit.

I'm almost certain that she'll insist for me to change, but when all she says is, "the black shoes with the strap should look nice with the skirt", I'm quite surprised.

"Um, ok." I mumble, gulping down the rest of my tea, which has gone lukewarm and tastes a little like tree sap (I think Mother wasn't kidding when she said she was making 'natural' tea). I quickly rinse the mug under the tap and place it in the sink, but as I'm leaving the kitchen, I bump into my Father coming in. Awkwardly standing in the doorway, I shuffle to one side so that he can move past and he doesn't say anything; just gives me a passive nod and heads inside.

Out in the hallway, I search for the black shoes my Mother recommended from the pile of work boots. I find them soon enough, but they're shoved at the back of the cupboard and have a stripe of dust across the front, showing just how long it was since I wore them last. Wiping off the dust, I slip them on and leave the house, closing the door silently on my way out.

I walk alone to the Reaping, I always do. Being with my parents tends to leave an awkward tension hanging in the air; one that I don't wish to deal with today. There isn't a particular reason why we act in this way, I guess it's just the way we all are: distant.

As I walk down the streets, I pass many houses with many different people leaving them, also on their way to face the most dreaded day of the year. Parents with children of eligible reaping age try to put on brave faces as they walk in states of silence, but I can see through their false expressions like they're made of glass. When they tell their children that _'you're name is only in there once, it won't be you'_, they really mean '_you're name is in there one too many times and I'm petrified that you'll be chosen'. _My parents never told Aran or me that; in fact, they did almost the opposite and pushed us into taking out tesserae. It's not that they want us to be Reaped and die, because despite their distant emotions, they do love us; it's just because we would struggle to get by if we didn't take it out. In a way, increasing our chances of dying in the Hunger Games has actually helped us to live better. It's ironic really.

"Tess!" I hear my name being called and I look around, spotting my friend Kiva.

I raise my hand in a wave and speed up my pace to reach her. Kiva and I met two years ago when I started working in the factory. She showed me how things worked in the factory and helped me to adjust to working life. She's a year older than me, so is still eligible reaping age, but she's like the older sister I never had.

"Hi, Kiva." I greet her. She walks beside me, her steps confident and unwavering.

"How are you?" Kiva asks, the usual serious tone to her voice is present.

I shrug. "Fine, I guess. And yourself?"

"Fine, yeah." She replies. "Are you nervous for the Reaping then?"

Again, I shrug. "My name is in there a lot; I've taken out tesserae, so my chances are pretty high. And you?"

"I suppose I am a little anxious." Kiva says honestly. "But it's my last year, so if I get past this then I'll be so relieved not to ever have to worry about it."

"What about family members or friends?" I point out. "They could still be reaped in the future."

Kiva narrows her eyes at me. "Don't be so pessimistic, Tess. You're always making it impossible for me to relax."

"How could you relax anyway?" I ask. "If you get through this Reaping without being chosen, it doesn't mean you're free from the Games forever, you know. And if it isn't the Games you're worrying about, it will be trying to earn enough to get by in life."

"You really know how to bring the mood down, don't you?" Kiva says, the tone of her voice is ever so slightly sharp, so I can tell that she was a little annoyed with what I said. But it's the truth and she needs to face it.

"Well it's not _my_ fault, is it?" I retort, but before Kiva can reply, my other close friend, Martin, runs over to us.

"What's not Tess' fault?" He asks, a curious gleam to his brown eyes. "Let me guess, she—"

"It doesn't matter." I cut him off, not wanting to go into the details. "Come on, we need to sign in."

We walk over to the desks and in turn, sign in. Because Martin is a boy and Kiva and I are both different ages, we are all split up as we stand ready for the Reaping to begin. I stand amongst other seventeen year old girls with my arms folded across my chest and my gaze firmly set on the stage ahead. The quiet chattering amongst the other girls soon dies away as the Capitol theme begins to play and the escort strides flamboyantly onto the stage.

Once the speeches are over, the Reaping begins and the escort walks over to the glass bowl, flexing his fingers around until he picks a slip of paper and returns to the microphone.

"And the female tribute representing District Six in the Forty-Fourth Hunger Games is… Tess Mercier!"

I freeze for a moment, my name echoing in my ears. Me?

Most of the girls around exchange sighs of relief as they haven't been chosen, but I glance around nervously, wondering what to do next. I'm not a well-known girl, so maybe if I sneaked off, no-one would notice. So as casually as I can, I edge my way through the girls in order to escape and make a run for it. However, as soon as I start to break out into a sprint, a heavy hand grabs my shoulder and pulls me back. A Peacekeeper.

"Tess Mercier?" He says, looking at me coldly.

I contemplate saying _no, I'm not her_, but it's so obvious that it is me and _someone_ is bound to recognise me sooner or later, so I have to give up and nod.

As I'm escorted up to the stage, I try testing the strength of the Peacekeeper's grip by attempting to slip away, but his hand is firmly glued to my shoulder, so I submit to his force and allow myself to be paraded up to the stage. I'm finally let go as I stand on stage beside the escort, but I resist the urge to try and run again, instead concentrating on appearing completely and utterly calm and confident. Which is pretty difficult when inside I'm feeling the complete opposite.

Garry "Fen" Fender (16), District 6 Male POV

After watching the sunrise, Susie and I went back to my house to get ready for the Reaping. She was chatting with Maya, one of the girls from the orphanage that my Mum works for and who pretty much lives at our house now, whilst I was getting washed, but now we are walking together on our way to the Reaping.

Mum and Maya walk just ahead of Susie and I, their hands locked in a tight grip. I love the way they are so close, it gives Mum something to feel optimistic about after Rose's death in the Hunger Games. It was such a blow to her, so unexpected, and at one stage I was scared to sleep at night for the fear that my Mum would end her life; she seemed so lost in grief and depression, it must have crossed her mind at some point. And with her husband, my Dad, already dead and gone, I guess losing another family member almost destroyed her entirely. My Dad died when I was young, but I can still remember him, though the memories are faint and sometimes bits are missed out where time has had its effect. However, his death wasn't so ordinary as most of the deaths in the District, his was quite a different story. And a story that I'm involved heavily in.

"We're here." Susie says, tugging on my arm. "You were daydreaming, are you ok?"

"Oh, I'm fine." I say, snapping out from my hazy cloud of thoughts. "Should we sign in?"

Susie nods and goes to stand at the back of the queue, whilst I say goodbye to my Mum and Maya.

"I'll see you later." I say, giving my Mum a quick hug. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

She nods, though I can see the tears welling up in her eyes as she has to let me go. I flash her a comforting smile and ruffle Maya's hair, earning myself a tight hug from the girl. She only reaches halfway up my torso, so she buries her head into my stomach. I stroke her hair fondly, before slowly pulling her arms from around my waist.

"I won't be long, I promise." I say to her. She nods obediently and goes to stand beside my Mum, her green eyes following me as I walk over to sign in. Once signed in, I go to stand in my allocated row, along with the other sixteen year old boys. I can see Susie from where I'm standing and she smiles at me warmly. I smile back, then turn to watch as the Reaping begins.

The girl is reaped first, someone I'm not familiar with, Tess Mercier. A Peacekeeper has to march her up to the stage because she tried to run away. I've seen others doing that before, but they never get away. No-one can ever escape from the Games.

As the escort walks over to the second glass bowl, I reach for the collar of my shirt and try pulling it away from my neck; it's too tight and when I swallow, I feel as if I'm being strangled. I'm distracted, fiddling with the collar, but the sudden announcement of my name grabs my attention.

I've been reaped.

I start to walk slowly up to the stage, my legs moving robotically as my mind is frozen in a state of shock. Heads turn to watch me as I approach the stage and I can feel Susie's vivid green eyes watching me too. A tear leaves my eye, trickling down my cheek, but I hastily wipe it away. I cannot appear weak, I must try to look brave. If not for myself, but for Rose. One Fender child has died in the Games, but I won't let that become two.

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><p><strong>AN- So, thoughts on these two tributes? I must say, I really enjoyed writing for these tributes! It was nice to write about a genuine and lovely guy like Garry, and I found it interested to write for a more emotionally distant character like Tess. Both fairly different tributes in this district, so I wonder how they'll get on...**

**Let me know what you thought about these tributes, I'd love to know! Thanks to those who submitted them, I hope I did them justice!**

**District Seven coming up next, I wonder what these next two will bring to the Games...**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama xxx**

**One last message just to quickly say that my 24-author collaboration is still open for new authors. We have a very exciting twist to these Games, which we will be announcing as soon as we have all of the authors necessary. Believe me, it is going to be an absolutely amazing collaboration, so please apply to join us! You won't regret it...hehe :P The link for the forum is on my profile page, so go and check it out!**


	8. District Seven Reapings

**A/N- Hurrah, I have updated quicker than last time, whoop! District Seven now, with two great tributes submitted by Rebirth of a Demented Kitten and In-My-Head-749!**

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><p><span>Delany "Laney" Ares (15), District 7 Male POV<span>

The house is silent. Always is. And probably always will be.

As I slide my long, thin and rather lanky arms into my dark brown suit, I frown at my reflection in the cracked mirror. Incredibly pale skin that's on the verge of being translucent, almost like a window to the deep blue veins that run beneath it, and spiked hair almost the colour of snow. Put that pale complexion alongside my forest green eyes and you have yourself, one could say, a sight to be seen. You would think that with a striking appearance like my own, I'd be a noticeable figure, one most people remember. Yet when the truth is pinned down, I'm just another background extra.

With a heavy sigh, I pull the rest of my suit jacket on and turn away from the mirror. Seven years bad luck for cracking a mirror, they say. It's been six years since I broke that mirror and I've had nothing but 'bad luck', so perhaps this will be my final year before things start to get a little better in my life. Maybe, maybe not. I guess I'll have to be patient to find out, which is something I can easily be. The only issue I have with this is that I'm so used to a grim life, that maybe I'm not ready for change. Maybe I won't be ready once these seven years are up. Maybe I'll never be ready.

The sound of my footsteps on the stairs echoes emptily around the house, before being absorbed by the thick wood that structures this house in the slums of District Seven. I've grown up in the slums all my life, so I'm used to the poor conditions and weakly built houses that tremble and quiver during summer storms and swell in the dampness of winter. Yet I still cling onto the hope that one day I will climb from the bottom of the ladder to maybe the rank higher where the quality of life is still pretty bleak, but tolerable. And maybe, just maybe, one day I'll walk the halls of the Victors' Village for myself, instead of watching from the side-lines. Some days I consider the possibility of volunteering for the Hunger Games, but then I look at the other Victors and see how the Games have changed them, modelled them into something they aren't, something the Capitol want them to be. So then I change my mind and dismiss the thought. If I went into the Games, I know that the only way I'd survive is to change who I am and that is one thing, if not the only thing, that I'm afraid of.

My bare feet pad along the wooden floor as I walk into the main room. In our house, as it is so small, there is only one room downstairs which acts as a lounge, kitchen and dining area all at the same time. It's only upstairs that is split into two tiny box-like bedrooms and one very basic bathroom which doesn't even have a shower facility; we have to bathe in the large metal tub which can be very awkward at times seeing that I'm pretty tall; my legs are always squashed up against the cold sides of the tub, whilst my arms usually end up hanging over the edges.

I don't notice my Father until I'm halfway across the room. He's sitting in his chair; a large and patchy arm chair that is decorated with small holes where moths have had a midnight feast. It's an old chair, here before I was even born, yet my Father refuses to get rid of it…not that we could afford a new one anyway.

He sits with his head swung low, his forehead almost reaching his knees. From under the shadows that have been cast over his face, I can see the dark circles that surround his eyes; a marking from the deprivation of sleep, something he hasn't had enough of in the last five years of his life since his wife, my Mother, died. Her death, caused by starvation which she kept strictly as a secret with herself only, shattered my Father's heart; mine as well. She was such a lovely and selfless woman, so much so that she kept her starvation hidden from everyone else to avoid any fuss or worry. At first I refused to accept it, called her selfish because she died and left me, but now that I'm a few years older I realise that if she hadn't have done what she did, then I would likely be dead instead.

I may not have gotten over her death yet, but at least I am no longer dwelling in my sorrows anymore, which cannot be said for my Father. Five long years of living with a depressed man is difficult, but I love him and it's what I have to do. He would have done the same for me. Yet I still have those days when all I want is to yell in his face and tell him to get on with his life. But of course, I never say those words out loud.

"It's the Reaping today, Father." I say to him quietly, disturbing the silence that usually hangs over the house.

He says nothing at all, he doesn't even nod his head or anything. He simply does nothing.

"My name is in the reaping bowl quite a few times." I continue, hoping to gain some form of response; a simple nod would satisfy me. Yet I still get nothing from him.

Sighing, I lift up the lid of the pot that hangs over the fire pit and peek inside, hoping to find some leftovers that I can eat as a bit of breakfast. However, when I find it to be completely empty, not even a drop of soup or stew or anything else you can cook in a pot, I slam the lid back on and turn sharply away from it. I glance over to the small clock that is precariously balanced on the windowsill and see that I only have twenty minutes until the Reaping begins. A curse slips from my lips as I race to the door, shoving my feet into my worn out shoes as I open the door. Living in the slums means that I'm far from the main part of the District where the Reaping is held, so if I'm going to get there on time, I'm going to need to run, which is one thing I am not particularly good at.

As I step outside the door, I take on last look at my Father and shake my head when I see that he hasn't moved a single inch. A part of me wants to rush back in there and talk to him until he replies, but the rest of me knows that it's best just to leave him. After all, grief is a difficult obstacle to clear and can only be healed with time. And time is definitely something I don't have much of at this moment.

Tayala Billies (16), District 7 Female POV

The cold and hard eyes of my parents stare at me with such a fierce intensity that I almost feel intimidated by them, as if I'm a small child again who has been caught doing something they shouldn't be doing. I almost feel the guilt swelling up inside me, though I know I've committed no sin. Well, no sin to them directly. And yet standing just metres away from them I can feel that overpowering look of disconcertment; one that is bare of any form of love, and one that I have experienced so many times in my past. But I'm not going to let them win again. So I send the knife that is so carefully balanced in my hand straight into the forehead of my Mother, followed by a second one dead-centre of my Father's face.

I walk slowly over, my pace so casual, but my hands are balled up in tight fists that send a dull strain down to my wrist. The blades of the knives remain stuck in their targets, the tips buried deep where I threw them with such a strong force; but the handles stick out freely and wait for my hands to grab them, ready to go for round two. I grip the knives firmly and give them a swift pull, yanking them free and sending the pictures of my parents floating gently to the ground, where I promptly stamp on them until they're reduced to a crumpled mess.

With the first round done, I take the next picture and pin it to the tree trunk. The undermining and callous face of the President stares back at me this time and I already feel my heart rate increasing as my hatred for the Capitol resurfaces. I take the knife in my hand and raise my arm, ready to flick my wrist and—

"STOP!"

I immediately lower my arm and turn sharply on my heels, scowling. My two friends, Gilze and Davian, appear from amongst the trees, both their faces painted with both shock and worry.

"What are you doing?" I ask them, folding my arms across my chest.

"We could ask you the same question." Gilze says, her hands poised on her hips. "What on earth do you think you're doing?!"

I glance at the picture of the President that is still pinned to the tree, then look back to Gilze. "I was practising my knife throwing, can't you tell?"

"Of course I can tell." She replies. "But that's not what I meant."

"What did you mean then?" I ask casually. "Care to enlighten me?"

Gilze rolls her eyes; she isn't fond of my sarcasm all of the time. "You know damn well what I meant."

"What's so bad about practising knife throwing?" I say. "Surely it's a good thing, right? It would certainly help if I was ever reaped for the Hunger Games."

"Not if you were practising throwing knives at the _President!_" Gilze exclaims. "How would that help, eh? Think the Gamemakers would appreciate you imitating murdering the President? Well I can tell you that they would _not_. No, they'd probably _kill_ _you_ with the first chance they get."

I roll my eyes. "Oh come on, don't exaggerate like that. They can't even see me here, so it's not like they'd know…"

"You don't know that!" Gilze retorts. "It's the _Reaping_ today! Peacekeepers are _everywhere! _In fact, they're probably watching us right now, waiting to leap out and arrest- no, _kill_ us!"

I open my mouth to yell back, but Davian steps between us, stopping me.

"Calm down, you two." He says, being the voice of reason that he always is. "Today's not the day for arguments, ok?"

"But she—",Gilze starts.

"No interrupting, Gilze." Davian says. "I agree, it was a stupid idea to try and throw knives at a picture of the President, especially today, but there is no need to make a huge argument out of it, is there?"

Gilze bites her lower lip, realising that he was right. "I'm sorry, I was just worried, ok? I always get a little edgy on Reaping day and I just panicked. Sorry, Tayala."

With a heavy sigh, I reluctantly give in. "I'm sorry too…"

Davian makes a sound of relief and mockingly wipes his brow. "A second rebellion avoided, thank goodness. Now, let's see if we can get to the Reaping without running into any more problems. That isn't too difficult for you, is it Tayala?"

I roll my eyes again. "You make me sound like I'm constantly in trouble…"

Davian laughs. "That's because you are- well, almost, if it weren't for Gilze and I always getting you out of trouble."

"Aw, my knights in shining armour." I say sarcastically, a smirk growing on my lips.

Davian steps closer, his arms circling around my waist. "But you're worth saving. Definitely worth it."

As he leans his head in to kiss me, Gilze gives a yelp. "Ew, if you guys are gonna kiss, I'm turning around right now!"

I peer over Davian's shoulder and flash a quick smirk to Gilze. "Turn around then."

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><p>As we reach the Reaping, Davian and I immediately pull out hands apart. I'm not embarrassed of Davian, he's a pretty good-looking guy and has a heart of gold (quite the opposite of me, actually), but I just don't like the idea of everyone knowing about our relationship. It's not a really serious relationship either, we've only been dating for a few months, but I still don't like the thought of broadcasting it to the entire District. Only Davian, Gilze and I know about it and I intend to keep it that way, at least for a while longer.<p>

After signing in, we say goodbye to Davian and walk over to our appropriate section: with the other sixteen year old girls.

"You know, Tayala," Gilze speaks to me in a low whisper. "I still can't get used to you and Davian being…together."

I flash my eyes at her sharply, a warning that this topic is off-limits in public. However, she simply ignores it and carries on.

"I mean, you're my best friends, so it doesn't feel normal." She says. "It's just, I dunno, _weird_?"

Just as I open my mouth to tell her to shut hers, I'm stopped by the sound of the Capitol anthem and the entrance of our escort, whose balance is all over the place in her six-inch heels.

"Welcome to the Forty-Fourth Hunger Games, District Seven!" She greets us with a glowing smile to her overly made-up face. "I am so excited for these Games, aren't you?"

The crowd is silent.

"We're all a bit quiet today, aren't we?" The escort seems mildly disappointed in our lack of enthusiasm, but what else should she expect? The Hunger Games are a vile and inhumane concoction designed by a bunch of snobby idiots, so there is nothing to be excited about.

"Oh well, let's begin with the girls, shall we?" She continues, tottering over to the first bowl. With her long fingers topped with acrylic fake nails, she roots through the mountain of paper slips and eventually plucks one out, taking it with her back to the microphone that stands centre stage.

"And our representative female is… Tayala Billies!"

Beside me, Gilze gasps, but I keep myself composed as I walk up to the stage. I'm a little startled because despite my knife throwing practise, I never actually believed that I would be reaped, but I know there is nothing to be done about it.

So as I climb the stairs and stand beside the escort, I decide one thing: I have to win these Games.

Delaney "Laney" Ares (15), District 7 Male POV

I reach the Reaping just in time, racing to the back of the almost non-existent queue and signing in as quickly as possible. I then jog over to the rest of the boys, ready to stand with the other fifteen year old boys, but then I spot my friend Rowan and decide to slip in next to him instead. Rowan is seventeen, so two years older than me, but because of my height, I blend in easily with the older boys.

"Laney, forgive me if I'm incorrect," Rowan says to me, his beautiful grey eyes looking into mine. "but shouldn't you be with the fifteen year olds?"

I press my finger to my lips, as if saying 'it's a secret'. Rowan raises his eyebrows sceptically and shakes his head in disapproval. "You know, if you get caught, I'm not covering for you."

"You won't have to." I reply. _No-one ever notices me, I'm invisible, so I won't get caught, _I think to myself, but not daring to say the words out loud.

"Ugh, Delilah is driving me insane." Rowan complains, rolling his eyes. "She keeps going on about having dinner with her parent, but I really don't give a fuck about her family, you know what I mean?"

I shrug. "Have you told her?"

Rowan shakes his head. "Nah, I haven't got round to it yet."

That's the one thing that bothers me about Rowan; where he may be very handsome with his dark brown hair and gentle grey eyes, he is a pain when it comes to dealing with things in life. He is constantly complaining about almost everything, but never actually does anything about it. Yet despite his obvious laziness, I still admire him as a friend. And I suppose you could say that I have a small crush on him, which of course he is completely oblivious to because I know his preference lies in the womanly category only and not the weird, anti-social, invisible guys like me.

We say no more because the Reaping begins. I watch as the girl is reaped, Tayala, and she seems pretty self-confident as she stands looking determined and proud on the stage. She has a slight look of defiance in the way that she composes herself, but she seems pretty calm overall.

Then it's the boys turn. I watch the escort pluck a slip from the bowl and return to the microphone.

"And our male representative is Delaney Ares!"

I stand still for a moment, my name echoes from the speakers, forcing it to repeat in my ears. I stay frozen to the spot I'm standing in as I feel moisture building up in my eyes before it breaks into streams of tears that trickle down my face, dampening the pale skin on my face. But as I start to cry, my sobs are twisted into a ripple of laughter that I am unable to control. I feel my knees start to shake and I let myself fall to the floor, my hands wrapping tightly around my stomach as I sink down lower, a mixture of sobs and laughter escaping my mouth.

But as the astonished faces continue to stare down at the crumpled heap that is my body, all I can do is realise that for the first time in years, I'm actually being noticed. I actually exist.

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><p><strong>AN- Aww, poor Laney, that was a pretty extreme reaction... Imagine both crying and laughing at the same time? I don't think it would be a very pleasant experience... What did you think of Laney? Do you feel sorry for him because of his tough-dealings in life? Or do you think he needs to just accept change in order to survive?**

**And for Tayala, what did you think of her? She certainly doesn't like the Games, but will she be defiant and speak out against them in the Games? Or do you think she'll be able to control her thoughts and keep quiet?**

**Thanks for all the support so far, you've been great! A big thanks to those who have submitted, I really enjoyed writing for these two tributes, I felt an easy flow as soon as I started writing! Please continue to read and review this story so I know what you are all thinking!**

**District Eight will be coming soon... What will these tributes be like?**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**


	9. District Eight Reapings

**A/N- Ok, I nearly cried when I saw how long it has been since I last updated :( I didn't realise it was so long, but I've been MEGA busy with work and other things that I only had small pockets of time to write this, which is why it took so long. Oh well, I will try not to be as slow as this again because I cannot wait to get to the Capitol, I have so many plans! But for now, here are our District Eight tributes, submitted by Ryan22000 and BamItsTyler.**

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><p><span>Talon Radycus (16), District 8 Male POV<span>

I knock softly on the door, my knuckles grazing the painted wood as I ask for permission to enter the room. I press my ear to the door and call gently through the gap between the hinges.

"Tully?" I call my sister's name. "It's me, Talon, can I come in?"

From behind the door, I hear a muffled sob, followed by a small 'yes' that I can only just hear. With full permission now granted, I nudge open the door slowly and walk in. It's dark inside; the curtains have been drawn tightly together, blocking out the natural light from outside the window and casting a large black shadow over the room. Odd socks are tossed on the floor, along with the occasional shoe that I stumble over, and various blouses, skirts and dresses are flung all over the place as if someone has just emptied a fashion store into the room. I carefully pick my way across the room, cautious not to step on anything and wincing when I stub my toe on a chair leg. I stop walking and stand at the end of the bed where my sister, Tully, is sat crossed-legged with a cushion held tightly to her chest.

Tully is only twelve, so today is her first Reaping. I have tried my best to keep her calm over the past few weeks, distracting her from thoughts of being reaped as much as possible, but now the day has come I cannot put it off any longer.

"Are you ok, Tully?" I ask her gently, perching on the end of her bed. The mattress dips where I sit, so Tully is pulled slightly off balance.

She shakes her head in reply, clutching harder to her cushion.

"It's normal to be nervous." I begin, adopting the calmest tone I can. "I was nervous when I was your age too. But your name is only in the bowl once, so your chances are very, very small."

She sniffs, her cheeks are stained with damp tears. "There's st-still a ch-chance."

I sigh, ruffling her hair fondly. "I know, but it's such a small chance. In fact, it's so small that you need a microscope to see it."

Tully looks to me in confusion, her head tipped slightly to one side. "What's a microscope?"

"Well, it's like a small telescope that the nerdy people in District Three use to see very small things." I explain light-heartedly. The corners of Tully's lips curve upwards and she almost smiles, but then the Reaping returns to her memory so the smile quickly fades.

"What small things do they see?" Tully asks.

"Hmm, let me think." I chew my bottom lip in deep thought. "They use microscopes to see the tiny little men that live inside the television and check that they're working hard enough for everyone."

Tully eyes me suspiciously, debating in her mind whether I'm telling the truth or not. She presses her lips together and draws her eyebrows close, thinking thoroughly before she finally says, "there aren't any tiny men in the back of the TV."

I gasp in mock horror. "Don't let them hear you saying that!"

"Why not?" Tully challenges.

"Because," I say, "they will stop working and you won't be able to watch the TV again."

As soon as this leaves my mouth, I regret saying it. At the mention of the TV, Tully is reminded yet again of the Hunger Games –and more importantly, of the Reaping. Her first Reaping. And the small smile that I managed to create on her young face quickly slips away, soon being replaced by a worried frown.

"Tully, I—" I start, but my sentence is cut short by a firm shake of Tully's head, her long hair ripples over her shoulders effortlessly.

"I'm not going to cry." She says firmly, though she is forced to bite her lower lip that is quivering slightly. "I'm going to be brave, just like you."

"That's great, Tully." I tell her, my body feeling instantly lighter as if a heavy load filled with pressure and stress and worry has been removed from my shoulders and tossed aside, where it won't return for a while. At least I hope it won't return soon.

"So," I say, glancing around the bomb-site of a bedroom, "what are you going to wear today then?"

Despite the hard work I have to do in the factories, helping with designs for the Capitol clothing, living in District Eight has its advantages; one of those being the endless choices of clothing that we can buy at a far cheaper price than all the other Districts who we export to. I'm quite fond of clothes myself, but my love for attire is no match for Tully's; she seems to have a dress for every occasion, plus more! Our Dad works in the manufacturing sector of the factory where they use designs from the sector I work in to turn the skilful sketches into real-life garments, so he has access to vast amounts of materials and whenever he can, he will take the unused fabrics and transform them into new dresses for Tully. Sometimes it can take hours, sometimes even days, but when they're finished, the dresses look beautiful. Our Mom used to do the same for Tully when she was a baby; she would often sew her own baby suits and accessories; but she died in a house fire when Tully was only a toddler, and I was a young boy so Dad took it upon himself to continue the handmade clothes tradition.

"What about this one?" I suggest, plucking a baby pink dress with frilled sleeves from the back of a chair. "Pink is your colour."

Tully looks the dress up and down, her eyes are still misty with the remnants of tears as she inspects it. After several moments of pondering, she shakes her head.

"Too young." She says. "I don't want to look too little and childish."

I shrug my shoulders. "Fair enough. What about this blue one?" I hold up a marine blue dress with cropped sleeves and a beautiful cream sash around the waist. This is one of my favourites of Tully's.

Tully steps over a pair of shoes and takes the dress from my grip, holding it against her small body. Tully is a very dainty, but flexible girl and she likes to perform handstands and other various gymnastic tricks to my friend and I, so her delicate frame suits the dress perfectly. She seems to agree with my thoughts as she turns to me, nodding her head excitedly.

"Yes, this is the one!" She exclaims, her face lighting up. "Thanks, Talon, you're my favourite brother!"

Halfway out the room to allow Tully to get dressed in private, I shake my head, laughing to myself. As I close the bedroom door and head to my own room, I can't help but whisper, "I'm your _only_ brother."

Nardia Cornelius James (16), District 8 Female POV

I wake up feeling a little groggy, last night's sleep consisted of two hours lying awake, staring at the ceiling and then another six hours of fragmented slumber. I know I must have tossed around a lot in my sleep because the duvet has somehow been flipped upside down so that the buttons that fasten on the end of the duvet are now scratching my neck uncomfortably. I swat the duvet away from my collar bone and clamber out of bed, my feet finding my worn-out slippers. We're not a poor family, in fact we're quite comfortable in the money department, but I tend to wear my slippers until they're no more than a thin piece of scrappy and hole-filled material that only just sticks to my feet. I guess you could say that I'm not overly fond of new things.

Stumbling around my bedroom, I locate my cardigan and shrug it on over my shoulders, pulling it tightly across my chest to cover my creased pyjamas. I pad quietly along the floor, the thin material beneath my feet isn't much insulation against the bobbled carpet. But as I reach the door and pull it open, I sense something moving above my head and just as I look up to see what it is, a wave of water cascades all over me, drenching my body from head to toe.

"JACKIE!" I shout loudly. "ALEXANDRIA!"

The heads of my eight year old twin sisters pop round from behind the door of their shared bedroom, their metallic eyes taking in the sight of me dripping with cold water. My curly hair is now flattened, sticking to the sides of my face and leaving droplets of water to trickle down my chin, and my pyjamas cling to my body in a soggy embrace. My face is a cloud of frustration and annoyance as I glare daggers into my sisters' eyes.

"Yes, Nardia?" Jackie says sweetly. "You called us?"

"I'm soaking wet." I reply coldly.

"Yes," Alexandria giggles, "we can see that!"

"You two ain't gonna get away with this." I warn them, trying to sound threatening, but ending up sounding meek and pathetic. My voice is far too quiet and soft spoken that I struggle to make words sound serious, so the twins take my comment lightly, as they do with most of these situations. Which, unfortunately for me, occur quite frequently as the twins go out of their way to play practical jokes on me on most days of the week.

"Yeah yeah, whatever, Nardia!" Jackie laughs, stepping outside from behind the door. "I'll see you downstairs for breakfast!"

Alexandria follows straight behind her sister, giving me one extra glance. "You need to get dressed, Nardia. You're soaked!"

I narrow my eyes at the two troublesome girls as they run down the stairs and disappear into the lounge. Then once I'm alone, I march back into my bedroom, leaving a trail of water droplets behind me that create dark spots on the carpet.

I strip off my damp pyjamas and toss them in the corner of the room, the wet clothes slapping together as they hit the floor. Grabbing a towel from my wardrobe, I pat myself dry and then change into my Reaping outfit, which is a blue and green plaid skirt with a simple white blouse. Luckily for me, my curled hair doesn't take long to dry, so after a few brushes through with my comb, it springs back to its usual frizzy volume that sits softly on my shoulders.

Once I look presentable, I slide my black, circular glasses back on and slip out of my room, jogging down the stairs to grab some breakfast before I have to get to the Reaping. I hate the Games, the way they turn innocent kids into bloodthirsty monsters is just disgusting. I'm so glad that I wasn't born in a Career district, I'd hate to be taught to kill from such a young age and the way I see the Careers each year in the Games loving it every time they hear a cannon fire with a dead body lying at their feet just makes me feel so angry. Nothing much gets to me, I'm a generally quiet person who tends not to express harsh feelings, but when it comes to the Hunger Games I can't help but feel clenched up inside. It's not the killing that bothers me as much, because I know that I would have to kill if I was ever reaped, but it's the arrogance of the Careers and the way they actually _enjoy_ killing young kids that angers me most of all.

As I walk into the lounge, I see Jackie and Alexandria sprawled out on opposite ends of the sofa, their large eyes following me as I go past them. Each of them have a piece of bread topped with strawberry jam that they happily chew on and crumbs stuck all around their lips as they much their breakfast.

My other sibling, Cassandra, is leaning against the wall, chatting happily to our Mother as she sips a mug of what I'm guessing is herbal tea. Cassandra is pretty much the opposite of me; loud, out-going and very opinionated. Not to mention she won't stop talking! I seriously don't see how she manages to talk for so long, doesn't she run out of things to say?

"Nardia!" Cassandra says, waving me over. "How are you?"

I shrug. "I'm ok, I guess. You?"

"Oh you know, just a little nervous for the Reaping." She replies, though she doesn't seem that nervous to me. "Would you like some tea?"

I shake my head. "I'll just get some toast…"

"Ok, sure!" She says, then suddenly stops me with her arm. "Ooh, let's see what you're wearing." She scans her eyes over my outfit. "Hm, a little…safe."

I shrug. "I liked it."

"Oh, there's nothing wrong with it!" She says quickly. "It's really nice! I just thought maybe you could experiment a little bit more, you know what I mean? Try something a little more daring; break out of your shell for once. What do you think?"

I bite my lower lip. "I'm not sure, maybe."

"Think about, ok?"

"Ok."

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><p>I didn't think about it. An hour later, we are now on our way to the Reaping and I'm still dressed in the same 'safe' outfit as I wore before. Cassandra tried forcing a miniskirt onto me, but it was far too clingy and I felt uncomfortable in it, so I stuck with my own clothes. This is how I like to dress, it's how I feel comfortable.<p>

"Well, my name is in the Reaping bowl about six or seven times I think." Cassandra blabbers on to our Father. "But I know some other girls who have their names in there over thirty times!"

I keep walking slowly behind, twiddling my fingers as we draw closer to the centre of the District. I can see Father nodding occasionally as Cassandra launches into a story about some random girl her friend's cousin's friend knows. Father has always preferred Cassandra over me, probably because she is a lot more out-going and talkative than I am. I think he just doesn't know what to say around me, which is why he tends to avoid being alone with me.

"Nardia, are you ok?" Mother says, dropping back from the others to walk with me. "You're very quiet."

"Ain't I usually quiet?" I reply.

Mother sighs. "I suppose you are. But I do worry about you, you know…"

"I'm fine. I have Alec and Daisy." I say, referring to my two best friends whom Mother is familiar with. I tend to use these two as defence whenever Mother gets close to the whole 'you're-too-quiet' lecture which I can sense coming now. "Anyway, I've got to go and sign in now."

Mother sighs again, wrapping her arms around me in a warm hug. I awkwardly hug her back and pull away quickly, aware that I need to find Daisy and Alec before the Reaping starts. I say my goodbyes to the rest of the family, sign in and go to stand with the other girls.

Cassandra immediately spots her posse of friends and wishes me luck before running off to greet them. I'm left standing alone until someone pokes my shoulder.

"Nardia!" My friend Daisy smiles warmly. "How are you?"

"I'm ok." I reply. "You?"

"I'm actually ok, you know?" She says, a smile still on her face. The peculiar, but sort of good, thing about Daisy is that she is happy 24/7. No matter what the situation, she always manages to crack a smile and say something cheerful. Sometimes I wish I could be a bit more like her. I know most of my family think that too…

Throughout the Reaping, Daisy whispers things to me, laughing about the way the escort is dressed and how ridiculous he looks with his bright make-up. I nod along, but my mind is too focused on the large glass bowl that is filled with hundreds of slips of paper, including a few with my own name on.

"Our female representative for this year's Hunger Games is… Nardia Cornelius James!"

I stare at the tiny slip of paper that is flapping in the escort's hand. The slip with _my_ name on it. My head feels dizzy as I stay stuck to the spot, my feet almost concreted into the ground, and my knees start to quiver and tremble like they're about to snap beneath me. My vision starts to blur, but that's probably from the few tears that have welled up in my eyes, and my breaths quicken.

_Deep breaths, Nardia, _I tell myself firmly. Then after sucking in a couple of breaths, I step out from the crowd and begin to walk towards the stage.

"No, Nardia!" Daisy screams, her hand grabbing at my arm to try and hold me back. I want to go back so badly, but one of the heavily dressed Peacekeepers yanks Daisy's hand from my arm and pushes me towards the stage. I try to block out the sound of Daisy's protests and focus on the stage ahead. A camera swings low right beside me, so I turn my head and look into the lens directly, narrowing my eyes. If I'm going to be in the Hunger Games, then the other tributes better watch out because I want to get home no matter what.

Talon Radycus (16), District 8 Male POV

The Reaping is pretty busy when we arrive, clusters of people stand around in every space, making it difficult for us to get through to the signing in desk. I keep a tight hold on Tully's hand as I weave us through the groups of people, careful not to lose her in this swarm of bodies. The palm of her dainty hand is sweaty and her eyes dart around nervously as we move. I can tell that she is frightened so I give her hand a soft squeeze.

"Talon!" The sound of my best friend Sandy reaches my ears and I stand up straighter, trying to see over the heads of the people around. My eyes scan the area for a few moments before I spot Sandy standing in a queue, her arms waving and beckoning me over.

"C'mon Tully, I think Sandy's saved us a space in the queue." I tell her, pointing over to Sandy with my free hand. Tully nods and once again we are plunged into the sea of people, slaloming our way through to Sandy. Eventually we break free into an open space and the air suddenly feels much lighter and easier to breathe.

I release Tully's hand and we join Sandy in the queue.

"Hey, Tully." Sandy smiles down to my sister. Sandy and I have been friends for a long time, so she knows Tully pretty well. Quite often, Tully and her other friends perform short routines to Sandy and I; showing off their latest handstand or cartwheel. Sandy is great with Tully; she sees her as her younger sister so they're really close.

"Hi, Sandy." Tully replies, chewing on her bottom lip.

"Are you nervous, Tully?" Sandy asks, rubbing her hand gently on Tully's shoulder. She nods. "Don't worry about it, your name is only in there once, it is very unlikely to be you."

Tully shakes her head defiantly. "But someone in the year above me in school was chosen last year and he only had his name in there once."

"Well if that happens, then don't worry." Sandy says, bending down to reach Tully's height. "I'll volunteer for you."

My mouth instantly opens and I go to protest, but Sandy shoots me a don't-say-anything-look so I stay quiet.

"Would you really?" Tully gasps, looking to Sandy with admiration.

Ignoring my frown, Sandy nods to Tully. "Of course I would. Go and sign in, you have nothing to worry about."

After watching Tully nervously signing in and heading off to stand with the other twelve year old girls, I wait with Sandy just before we have to split too.

"You didn't need to say that." I say to Sandy.

"Well she seemed really nervous, so I just kinda said whatever I thought would make her feel better." Sandy says.

I raise an eyebrow at her. "You do realise that if she gets reaped, she'll be expecting you to volunteer for her?"

"It won't come to that." Sandy replies. "She won't be reaped. Anyway, I'd better go, that Peacekeeper looks as if he's gonna come and drag me to stand with the other girls."

I peer over to the Peacekeeper Sandy pointed out and I see what she means, he does look close to coming over here.

"See you later, ok?" Sandy says, pulling me into a quick hug. "Good luck."

I hold her close to me, breathing in her flowery scent, not wanting to let go. But I know we are only friends despite what I hope for, so I pull back and give her a warm smile instead. "Good luck to you too."

Sandy and I separate and I go to stand with the boys of my age. I wait patiently through the Treaty of Treason and watch the girl being reaped. A wave of relief washes over me when it is neither Tully nor Sandy, but I still feel sorry for the girl. No-one should be made to go into the Games, it's disgusting. I'm not familiar with the girl, but she seems to be putting on a brave face so I admire her for that.

The boys are next and I clench my fists tightly as the name is chosen.

"Talon Radycus!"

I gulp, trying to swallow down the large lump that has grown in my throat. With my arms held close to my sides and my fists still clenched, I stride up to the stage. Inside I feel like crying, but I know that tears will not help me now, they'll only weaken my strength, so I keep my face straight instead.

I pass Sandy first and I can see her face is painted with pure shock, her wide eyes following me in disbelief as I march onwards. Second, I pass Tully and the moment our eyes lock, she crumbles and tears spill from her eyes, pouring down her face like tiny waterfalls. I give her the most encouraging smile I can muster and head on.

I know I have to be strong. It's the only thing I can do to get back home and see my sister and Sandy again. And that is what I want most.

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><p><strong>AN- Ok, so thoughts on these two tributes? I've got to say, I really like these two and writing for them was really good because they're quite down-to-earth, nice people. It's a shame that they will be thrown into the arena, but these things happen and without it, this story wouldn't be alive! But what do you think of them? Like/dislike/impartial? And how do you think they'll fit in with the others so far?**

**Thanks to those who submitted these tributes, I hope I wrote them accurately enough! If not then I'll buy you virtual cookies as an apology, haha :D**

**Please keep on reviewing as well, I love to hear your opinions!**

**District Nine next and I am really looking forward to writing for these tributes...**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**


	10. District Nine Reapings

**A/N- Hi everyone! So sorry for the late update, but I've not been very well lately :( I spent a solid 48 hours in bed unable to do anything but complain and be sick, so I haven't been able to write a lot. However, I am all better now and I have finished the District Nine Reapings, so please enjoy them! These two tributes were submitted by hp0123 and katsparkle13!**

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><p><span>Wen Taleigh (15), District 9 Male POV<span>

I twirl the piece of grain in my hand, watching it weave in between my long fingers like the wicker of a basket, neat and tightly held by the strength of my hands that time working in the fields has built up. The bleak morning sun shines down, basking the field below in a pale yellow light that I love to close my eyes and lie in. It's the simple things in life that I really appreciate, like the rising and setting of the sun, or little smiles on the faces of people I pass by. I'm quite an adventurous sort of person, but sometimes nothing beats just sitting and relaxing in the middle of a field.

"Don't you get sick of the sight of grain?" My friend, Jarron, sighs, plucking the seeds from a piece of grain. "We work in the fields pretty much every day, yet you still insist on coming here on our day off? Do you have some sort of fetish for grain or something, Wen?"

I laugh, tilting my head backwards. "Nah, I just like it out here. It's peaceful, you know."

Jarron shakes his head at me. "You're a strange guy, Wen. One day you're mucking about in the fields and getting chased by those crazy old farmers, then another day you're lying in a field blabbering on about peace! It's weird, seriously."

"You're weird," I prod him in the shoulder, "_seriously_."

"Oh shut it, you freckly freak!" Jarron laughs, pushing me in the shoulder with such a surging force that I'm knocked off my elbows and I land with a thud on my back, winded. It takes me a few seconds to catch a breath before I can get back up again.

"Boys are the weird ones." Our friend Evelyn says, looking up from her long nails. Her dark eyes squint through the strands of hair that fall over her face as she spots something in the distance. "Oh, is that your sister, Wen?"

I follow her extended finger and see a small girl walking down the path between the rows of growing grain. The girl skips along happily, her plaited hair bouncing lightly on her shoulders and a basket is held tightly in her hands. As she approaches, I can see her smiling face, a smile so wide that it almost reaches her ears, and I hold out my arms for her to embrace me. Upon seeing my open arms, she picks up her speed and comes sprinting towards me, before tossing her basket aside and flinging her small body into mine.

Holding her close, I give her a tight squeeze and she giggles over my shoulder. I tap my fingers lightly on her back, drumming out a little tune.

"How is the best sister in the world?" I ask, removing her arms from around my neck.

"Great!" Ella replies happily. "How is the best brother in the whole worrrrrld?"

"I'm doing good, thank you." I say. "What's in the basket, Ella?"

Retrieving her basket from the floor, Ella holds it out for me to look inside. I peer down at its contents and see a bunch of pale blue flowers at the bottom, their petals resting delicately against the wicker of the basket.

"Did you pick these?" I ask my sister, plucking out a single flower and examining it in the morning light.

Ella nods proudly. "They're from my garden."

"They are beautiful." I tell her fondly. "But not as beautiful as you."

Her cheeks flush a timid pink and she bends towards me, planting a soft, seven year old kiss on my cheek. "Oh, Mommy told me to tell you good luck from her and Daddy."

"Ok, tell them I'll see them later." I say, placing the flower back into the basket. "Are you ok to walk back home, or do you need me to come with you?"

Ella points to the path that she came down. "I'm a big girl, I can walk by myself."

"Ok then, big girl." I say, smiling. "Can I have a hug before you go?"

Nodding, Ella wraps her short arms around my neck and gives me a long hug. Then, once we've parted, I wave her off as she skips down the path, her little basket swinging in her hand. Normally, I wouldn't let Ella walk by herself, but our house backs onto this field so it only takes about a minute to get from here to there; and I can see her the entire way down, so I know she's safe.

"You're sister is so adorable, Wen!" Evelyn exclaims, holding a hand to her chest. "I wish my sister was like that."

"I don't." Jarron says, smirking. "Your sister is hot."

"As if she'd be interested in you, Jarron." Evelyn rolls her eyes at him. "You are definitely not her type."

"He's not anyone's type." I add, earning myself another shove from Jarron, but this time I'm prepared for it, so I simply swerve my shoulders out of the way when his large hands comes barrelling towards me. Jarron curses, having missed me.

"What time is it?" I ask. "Anyone know?"

Evelyn looks to her thin wrist where she wears a small gold watch. "About an hour until the Reaping." She sighs. "Ugh, I really hate the Hunger Games. I don't see the point in sending twenty four kids into an arena and letting all-but-one die. How is that meant to control the Districts?"

"Would you go and tell that to a Peacekeeper?" I ask her. "You could even ask the President what the point is of the Games, if you wanted to."

Evelyn shakes her head. "That's ridiculous! I'd only do that if I had a death wish- which I do not have."

"So you wouldn't question it to the Capitol?"

"No way! I'd rather live, thanks."

"Then you are being controlled." I say simply. "We are all being controlled. The Games are just a tool used to control. And no matter how hard we try to escape them, whether or not we are reaped or know someone who is, we are all being controlled."

Evelyn stares at me, her jaw hanging slightly. The air stays silent for a few moments before Jarron breaks the peace.

"As I said before, you're a strange guy, Wen."

Clio Aster (15), District 9 Female POV

"Clio, wake up." Something shakes my shoulder. "Clio, you're lying on my dress."

I stare upwards, expecting to see my sister's face staring down at me, but a sheet of black covers my sight, preventing me from seeing anything but darkness. I can feel my sister shaking my shoulder again, whispering down my ear, telling me to wake up. But I am awake. I'm awake, but I just can't move right now.

"Clio, open your eyes." Phoebe says, coaxing me out of my blank state. "Come on, you can do it."

My eyelids flicker open.

"Clio, are you ok?" The face of my nine year old sister blurs into view. Her chocolate brown hair curls around her small face and her warm, gentle eyes are filled with concern.

"How...how long have I been out?" I ask wearily, my throat feels incredibly dry and croaky as I speak.

Phoebe frowns. "Um, maybe about ten minutes? You were helping me with my dress when it happened. I went to find Mother, but she was washing Zinnia's hair, so she told me to sit with you until you woke up."

"Thanks." I mumble, shuffling onto my elbows. As my head lifts from the ground I feel a strain on my neck from the heavy weight of my skull. "Sorry, Phoebe."

Phoebe shrugs. "It's ok, I'm used to it now. Are you feeling all right?"

"Yeah, fine." I lie. "So, shall we continue getting you ready?"

"You're sitting on my dress, Clio." Phoebe says, pointing to the floor beneath me.

"Oh, sorry." I quickly pull the dress out from under my legs and straighten it out where creases have gathered in the skirt of the dress. "Here, all better."

Phoebe takes the dress and slides it on over her head, her curled hair popping out from the neck of the dress first. I take her hand and gently pull her arm through the sleeve, then do the same with the other one. The dress is a plain straight skirt with a patterned bodice in a gorgeous turquoise shade. Years ago, it used to be my dress, but I have long grown out of it so it belongs to Phoebe now. No doubt that when she has grown out of it too, it will be passed down to our other sister, Zinnia, who is the youngest sibling at seven years old. Despite being too young to be Reaped, Phoebe and Zinnia still come to the Reaping with our parents, so that's why they are dressing well today. As for my outfit, I'll be wearing the same pale yellow blouse I always wear for the Reaping, as well as a lovely white skirt my Mother bought for me last week especially for today.

"You look beautiful." I say, tying the ribbon at the back of Phoebe's dress. "Better than I did when that dress was mine."

"Thanks, Clio."

Just as I finish tying the ribbon, the door opens and our Mother walks in, a look of concern etched onto her face.

"Clio, could I speak to you for a moment?" She asks.

"Sure." I say, already knowing what she will say. It will be about my black-out, I'm sure of it.

Leaving the room, I stand in the hallway where Mother is waiting for me. Still feeling a little tired from the black-out, I lean back against the wall to relieve some of the weight on my legs.

"Phoebe said you had another seizure." Mother says quietly. "How long did it last?"

"Ten minutes." I answer, going by what my sister told me. I can never guess myself; sometimes I feel as if I've been out for hours when it's only been a few minutes, whereas other times I think only a minute or two has passed, but instead I have been out for three hours. Time is something not easily accounted for in my life.

Mother sighs. "Is this the fourth one this week?"

"Fifth..." I mumble, biting my lower lip. "But they've only been small ones." I quickly add, trying to better the situation. "It's nothing to worry about, really."

Mother frowns, her dark eyebrows pulled together, creating creases in the skin on her forehead. "Maybe I should speak to the Mayor about having you placed near the outside of the crowd during the Reaping today. You know, in case you feel like you're going to have another seizure. The stress of the Reaping may prompt another one."

"No!" I say immediately, then instantly regret it when I see the surprise on Mother's face. I don't usually snap like this, so I must have shocked her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that... I just don't want to draw any attention to myself. I'll be fine, I promise."

"Are you sure?" She asks. "I'm sure it wouldn't be a problem.."

I nod my head. "I'm sure, I'll be fine. I won't pass out again, don't worry."

But despite the agreeing nod my Mother gives me, I know she is still worried. But not just about the seizures; she's worried about me being reaped for the Hunger Games.

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><p>Our house is quite far away from where the Reaping is held, so by the time we reach the main square my feet are aching in my sandals; I'll probably have a blister somewhere, yuck.<p>

"Clio is going to sign in now and stand with the other older girls." I hear Mother explaining to Zinnia and Phoebe. "You two will wait with me and Father until it's over, ok?"

I walk over to them and bend down to reach Zinnia's height. I'm already quite small myself, standing just above five feet, so I don't have to crouch down too low. My cat, Willy, whom I've had since I was twelve, squirms in my arms as I hold him out to my younger sister.

"Will you look after Willy for me, Zinnia?"

Zinnia nods, her face lighting up as she opens her arms to take the cat. "Oh, I love holding Willy, he's so soft! Thank you, Clio!"

"Just keep him safe for me." I tell her, ruffling the scruff of my cat's neck. "I'll see you in a bit, ok?"

Saying my goodbyes to Phoebe and my parents, I start to make my way over to the signing in area. A large queue stretches out from the desks and I join the back of it, twiddling my thumbs together. Both in front and behind me, I can hear girls and boys chatting to each other at high speeds. Most of them sound incredibly nervous, pouring their anxieties out to one another as they wait for their fingers to be pricked. Others are comforting their weeping friends, filling them with words of ease and assurance. I catch a few of their words; a boy behind me is telling his sister that she only has a one-in-so many thousand chance of being reaped. I'm completely bemused as to how he worked it out; there aren't thousands of kids in the District, but most of them have their names in the bowl several times, so how did he work it all out? It's foreign to me, maths is. So are most school subjects. I don't go to school and I can't even remember the last time I attended a lesson, so I guess that's why all this academic nonsense is like a different language.

As the queue gets shorter and shorter, the chattering dies down to low whispers. The anxiety and nerves are starting to come out in everyone now; even I'm starting to feel my palms sweating and my heart rate increasing.

Eventually it's my turn to be signed in and I hold out my finger. My hand is grasped roughly by a woman who plunges a pen-like object towards my fingertip and a sharp sting punctures through my skin. My finger is pressed onto a pad where my name appears on the screen above and then I'm dismissed, the next person's turn arriving.

I walk slowly to my designated area and stand alone, melting into the rows of nervous faces. A girl near to me is crying into her friend's shoulder and I for a moment I feel the urge to go to her and see if she's all right, but then I think better and decide to stay out of it. Because of my illness, I have isolated myself from others since I was four, when the seizures started. So now that the illness is getting worse, I know that keeping my distance is even more vital now. The last thing I want is to have more sympathetic looks and more people worrying about me. It's enough to have my family's worries on my conscience.

Throughout the Reaping, I stay silent, keeping myself tightly away from brushing anyone's shoulders. But then the time comes when the girl is reaped and I hold my breath as the escort dips her hand into the bowl of paper. And plucks a slip out.

"Clio Aster!"

I gasp, my eyes widening in shock. I clutch my stomach, my insides tightening as if I've suffered a blow to the torso. Girls around me, who don't know who I am, notice my reaction and realise that I'm Clio Aster, the girl who has just been chosen to enter an arena to fight to the death. I glance around at their faces; a mix between looks of sympathy and looks of relief.

Drawing in a deep breath, I step out of the row and begin making my way down the centre of the crowd where the girls and boys are parted. I stare at my feet as I walk, concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other. When I reach the stage, I climb the stairs carefully and step towards the middle of the stage.

As the escort walks over to the second bowl, ready to choose my district partner, I stare ahead. I need to be brave, so even as stars begin to cloud my vision, I block them out and concentrate on keeping myself conscious. Because in this game, there is no time for black-outs. For me, one seizure could mean the difference between life and death.

Wen Taleigh (15), District 9 Male POV

I walk down to the Reaping with Jarron and Evelyn; my parents don't usually attend the Reaping because they like to keep Ella oblivious to the Hunger Games. I agree with them, seven is far too young to know about the horrors of the Games. If it were up to me, I'd want her never to find out about them. But I know that one day she will have to learn, because one day she'll be old enough to be reaped for them, just as I am.

Waiting in the queue to sign in, Evelyn waves one of our other close friends, Mick, to stand with us. He approaches with his hands stuffed into his pockets, a sheepish look on his face.

"You ok, Mick?" I ask him.

He shrugs. "Just nervous for the Reaping, you know."

I nod. "Oh."

"Cheer up, you'll be fine." Jarron says, nudging Mick with his elbow sharply. "I'm sure Wen would volunteer for you if you got reaped."

My head snaps towards my friend, my eyes wide. "What made you say that?"

Jarron laughs. "I dunno, it's probably something you'd do, haha."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask, confused with Jarron's words. I've never said anything about volunteering for the Hunger Games, I hate them!

Jarron shrugs. "Just that you can be a bit reckless sometimes."

I frown at him, but have no chance to reply as it's my turn to sign in. I hold out my finger, wait for the sharp sting, print my blood and then go to stand in my designated area. Such a simple routine for the most un-simple game ever invented.

Jarron and Mick are also fifteen like I am, so we all stand together. Evelyn stands across the parting with the other girls, her eyes firmly set on the stage ahead. Evelyn doesn't like to admit that she's nervous for the Reaping, but I can always tell that she is; it's the cold eyes and clenched fists that give it away. Mick on the other hand is pretty obvious and quite open about his nerves. His cousin was reaped a few years ago and died in the Games, so that has affected him pretty badly. And then there's Jarron, who acts cocky and confident 24/7, so to him, the Games aren't anything to stress about.

As the Reaping begins, I watch calmly as the girl is chosen. Her name is Clio and she looks around the same age as me, fifteen. She's quite short with dark hair in a small ponytail that sticks out over the collar of her blouse. I can't say that I recognise her though, but she seems to be taking the news calmly. Well, that's the best you can do anyway. There's no point in sobbing your heart out, the Capitol don't feel sympathy.

Then it's the boys turn. From the corner of my eye, I can see Mick clenching his fists tighter and tighter until his knuckles go white from the strain. I even notice Jarron drawing in a deep breath.

"Wen Taleigh!"

Eyes turn towards me. Jarron reaches out and gives me a rub on the shoulder. I give him a small smile and shake his hand, then turn to shake Mick's as well. My two friends watch me as I walk out into the middle of the crowd and head for the stage, my teeth gritted hard together. I'm not surprised really, in the back of my mind I always sort of expected to be reaped.

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><p><strong>AN- A nice pair of tributes here, I really liked writing for these two! It was interesting to write for Clio with her illness and I deliberately didn't want to give too much information about it in just the Reaping, so if you felt that it didn't include much detail about the disorder, then don't worry, it will come in a later chapter! **

**So, thoughts on these tributes? Do you feel sorry for Clio? Will her disorder render her useless in the Games, or will she surprise us all? As for Wen, will his unpredictability aid him or prove costly in the arena?**

**Thanks to those who submitted, read and reviewed, I really appreciate it! Please continue to read and review, we only have three more Reaping chapters until we move into the Capitol where the tributes will start to mix with each other. I'm getting excited for it now!**

**District Ten is next... **

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**

**One quick note: The next chapter may have a small delay because I am currently studying for important exams. I will still find time to write though!**


	11. Author's Note

**Hi everyone, this is just a quick message about the story. Before you think I'm abandoning it, let me assure that I have every intention of finishing this story! However, as I have mentioned before, I am currently in the middle of very important exams and so I am up to my eyes in revision etc, which leaves little/no time to write. This is the reason why I am yet to update with the latest chapter, which I have actually written the first half of.**

**So where does this leave the story now? Well, most of my exams will be finished by the end of next week, so I should be back to writing pretty soon. I probably should have posted this author note a little while ago, but with all the exam work, I kept putting it off. But for now, I just want you to know that the story is very much alive, just on pause until I get these exams over, and then I'll have a huge summer break where I can write all day long and get this story developing properly!**

**Sorry for any inconvenience and I hope you all are still interested in the story and will read it when I return in just over a week. **

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**


	12. District Ten Reapings

**A/N- WELCOME BACK EVERYONE! BIG SMILES, THE STORY HAS RETURNED! As I'm sure you are aware, I have been very busy with some extra important exams recently and was forced to take a short break from FanFiction. Alas, that break has come to an end and now I am free to write again! (and what a great feeling it is too!) I don't think I have ever taken so long to write a chapter and writing the final sentence of this was such a relief because I was so determined to get this finished and posted for you all! So now this is done, I can get this story back up and running and get through the last few Reapings to bring the arena much closer... I have so many plans and I can't wait to write them! But first, for now, here are the District Ten Reapings with two wonderful tributes submitted by thederangedramblingsofme and Axe Smelling God :)**

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><p><span>David Peterson (17), District 10 Male POV<span>

I frown down at the small device that sits in the palm of my hand. It's so different to the sorts of devices we have in District Ten; the most complex things we get are milk pasteurisers (they are far too complicated than they need to be, seriously)! But these foreign gadgets are what get the cogs turning in my mind, they are what interest me in life, not the machines that turn udder-fresh milk into something more consumable. Sometimes I think that perhaps I was born into the wrong district and that instead of living in a giant farm, smelling cow waste and swatting away the melees of flies that hover around that waste; maybe I was supposed to be born in District Three, the home of all things technological and well, interesting.

"Where did you say you got this from?" I ask my friend, Mateo, holding up the device so he can see what I am referring to.

"My Dad was given it by someone." He replies, looking up from a bunch of wires he is poking around. "It's a new communication device that he is trialling for use in the livestock farms. Apparently it has come straight from District Three."

"Communication device, eh?" I say, peering at the external structure of the device. My eyes scrutinise over the handheld object, searching for something I recognise. Then I notice the small, faint red circle in the top right hand corner. "Aha! I've found where the radio waves are emitted!"

"Great, so I was right!" Mateo says triumphantly, punching the air with a jokey fist. "I knew that my Dad was trying out a new communication device, so I guessed it would be that one."

"Won't he be angry with you for stealing it?" Owen asks, joining the conversation and being the usual 'voice of reason'. "You should have asked him, you know."

Mateo rolls his eyes. "I didn't _steal_ it, I simply _borrowed_ it for our entertainment. I'll return it later. Besides, it's not like he will need it today, it's the Reaping so no-one will be working in the far fields."

"That is true." I back him up. "Isn't it so cool though? Do you reckon we could open up the back and take a look inside?"

Mateo frowns. "Hm, not sure. What if we can't get it back together again?"

"Oh we'll easily get it back together!" My best mate, Reid, jumps into the conversation, abandoning his sketch pad. "I can quickly sketch it so we'll remember how it fits back together.

"Go for it then." I say, unscrewing the back from the device and holding it up for him to see. Reid peers at it closely, examining each and every tiny twisted wire whilst his hand speedily sketches it onto the paper. It only takes him a minute to copy it roughly before he gives us a nod as if to say '_dig in'_.

And I do just that. Taking the device in one hand, I allow my free hand to explore the jungle of expertly woven wires, following where one wire begins to where it ends, coming across many loops and crosses along the way. As I start to lift up some of the wires to examine what's underneath, I can't help but admire the patience of those who created it. Imagining the time they must have spent meticulously putting this device together and the extreme concentration that must have fuelled that is beyond praise. For me, that is true talent. Forget all about the Career Districts who see the ability to kill as a talent; what I have in my hand is real talent. The ability to use the brain to its full potential is far more precious and rare than being able to handle a sword.

The sound of the door opening drags my attention away from the device and I look up to see my Mother walking in. She smiles briefly at my three friends, then turns her attention to me.

"David, it's almost time for the Reaping. I think you should—" She stops her sentence as her green eyes, the same ones I inherited, spot the device in my hand and the wires that tumble out of it, falling between my fingers. "What is that you have?"

I glance down at the device. "Oh... it's just something Mateo brought for us to look at."

"Is it from District Three?" My mother asks, a disapproving look etched onto her face.

I nod meekly.

"David, you know that I don't mind you taking an interest in technology. But that's as a hobby. This, "she sweeps her arm around the room "is becoming an obsession now."

"But—"

"I'm not saying you should stop it entirely." She sighs. "I just don't want you to think that you have a future in technology because you don't." My eyes drop to the floor. "Look, I don't mean that in a harsh way, you're a very intelligent boy and I'm proud to have you as my son. But I'm just saying that you need to stop pretending that you're from District Three when you're not. You're from Ten and when you're older you'll be working in the cattle fields with your father, not working away in some techno-lab or whatever they call it…"

"Laboratory." I correct her automatically, then regret it the second after I've said it.

My mother's jaw tenses and I see her swallowing back her words, reconsidering what she was going to say. Normally, she would have just come out and said the first thing that came into her mind, but because my friends are here, she appears to be thinking before speaking.

"Ok, I've been lenient enough with this technology…_habit._" She says. "But I think it may be going too far and I don't want you to become like one of…_them_."

Silence rings in the room and from the corners of my eyes I can see my friends' heads dropping, awkwardly avoiding eye contact with each other and with me. I lock eyes with my mother and open my mouth to say something, but no words come out.

"David…" My mother's face is painted with a look of regret. "I didn't mean it like that… You know how this time of year makes me feel."

I swallow, though my throat is already too dry. My aunt, Mother's sister, died in the Hunger Games when she was only fifteen. I never knew her, but my mother has told me that they were close as sisters. She didn't get far in the Games, only lasted the first two days, but the two tributes from District Three had killed her by electrocution, so since then my mother has always been sensitive towards District Three, even though it happened years ago and not all District Three citizens are like that. I guess it just brings back the memories.

Again, I try to say something back to her, but I can't find the right words so I stay silent. Sensing the tense atmosphere and the awkwardness between my friends, my Mother clears her throat and makes for the door.

"Just make sure you get to the Reaping on time." She says, leaving the room. "I'll meet you there in a while."

Petunia Evens (17), District 10 Female POV

I swing open the large doors of the closet and I'm greeted by an array of colourful fabrics that make even my summer-yellow dress seem plain. I'm past gasping at this collection of clothes now that I see it almost every day, but the first time I opened up the closet I had gasped so loudly that I scared Lettice, who thought I was gasping at a spider or some other 'putrid creature', as she calls them.

"What would you like to wear today, Lettice?" I ask, gently fingering one of the dresses and wishing that I could bring something like this home to my sister, Adne.

"Something really pretty." The thirteen year old replies. "Daddy says that I need to out-do all the other girls because I'm representing him."

Lettice's father is the Mayor of District Ten and despite being quite lazy with his own appearance, he always wants his daughter to look her best, which is exactly why he hired me. Since his wife, Lettice's mother, walked out on their marriage to live with one of the Peacekeepers she had an affair with, I have been working as an assistant to the Mayor, filling in the jobs that his wife used to do like dressing Lettice. This job was quite a blessing really, it helps to bring in extra money for the family because working on the cattle farms at the moment, like my father does, isn't very substantial, so every extra penny is appreciated. I also really enjoy this job; what's not to like about choosing dresses and plaiting hair?

"What about this one?" I suggest, pulling out a beautiful pale green dress with an ivory ribbon around the waist. "This colour would really compliment your hair."

Sliding off the edge of her cushion-covered bed, Lettice walks over with her usual superior strides and stops in front of me, inspecting my choice. Her dark eyes skim over the dress, scrutinising each tiny detail on the hand-crafted masterpiece. After a few moments of 'hmm-ing', Lettice nods her head. "That'll do nicely."

Handling the dress as if it is made from glass, I undo the buttons down the back and hold it out for Lettice to step into it. She does so with such grace of a Capitolite that I wonder if she imagines herself as one of the many rich and well-dressed citizens of the Capitol. I tug the dress up her slender body as she wiggles into it, her thin, long arms threading through the sleeves like a needle poking through fabric. Once the dress is snugly on I take the ribbon in my fingers, rubbing my fingertips along the soft, velvety material and then fasten it securely in a neat bow.

"What do you think?" I ask, taking a step to the side so Lettice can examine her reflection in the mirror.

As Lettice preens in the mirror, admiring her appearance, I can't help but steal a glance at my own reflection. I'm never one to make a fuss about myself, I'm always too busy working on either Lettice or my sister Adne's appearance, but I can't help noticing the thinness of my cheeks and the way my hair falls in limp curls down past my shoulders. I am no way in competition with the likes of Lettice, despite the four-year age difference. Suddenly feeling ashamed of paying myself attention, I turn back to Lettice and shake off my previous thoughts like water off a duck's back.

"Thank you, Petunia." Lettice says lightly. "I look lovely."

"So you do." Says the deeper voice of the Mayor and I look to the door to see Lettice's father standing in the doorway dressed rather messily in a patchy suit with his tie skewed to one side and his shoelace undone, trailing on the floor beside him like the tail of a mouse. "You may leave now, Petunia, I'm sure you need to get your own sister ready for the Reaping. Am I correct in assuming she is the same age as Lettice?"

I nod. "Yes, she is."

"Well, you had better run along to her then." He says, reaching into the pocket of his blazer and pulling something out in a closed fist. "Here, take this."

I walk over to him and open up my hand, outstretching my palm. "What is it?"

"Let's call it a little bonus because it's Reaping day." He says in a lower tone, dropping a handful of copper coins into my palm. I stare at the money in my hand, shocked at his generosity, but don't try to return it because of the insistent expression on his face that tells me just to accept the money and leave.

"Thank you so much." I say gratefully, closing my fist over the coins. "I'll see you tomorrow."

As I slip out the room, the Mayor calls after me, "good luck in the Reaping, Petunia!", but I'm already halfway out of the front door to shout a reply.

Once outside, I glance at the old watch on my wrist; the leather band has faded with age and the end of the strap is starting to fray, but the tiny gold hand still ticks on the clock face and I can see that I only have half an hour until the Reaping begins, which means twenty minutes to get my sister ready, five minutes for myself and then five minutes to walk. Sounds do-able.

I don't live far from the Mayor's house, so I arrive home in a few minutes. Adne is already waiting for me when I open the front door, sitting on the top stair with her feet tapping lightly on the stair beneath.

"You've been ages!" Adne exclaims as I close the front door behind me.

"Sorry, Lettice was—" I begin, but Adne waves it off abruptly.

"Just hurry up, or we'll miss the Reaping!" She says bossily, turning and running into her bedroom and leaving me to follow.

With a chuckle, I climb the stairs and enter her bedroom. My sister has always been the bossy one, gaining that trait from our mother, whereas I'm softer like our father. Our mother was never very maternal in her ways; she still tends to be a little selfish now, but I forgive her, not everyone can be naturally maternal. But I always made sure that Adne didn't feel deprived of a motherly figure, making myself act more as a mother to her rather than a sibling. I always thought that it's better to have a sibling as a mother than have no-one at all.

"Right," I say, standing with my hands on my hips, "let's get you ready for the Reaping."

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><p>Adne and I have to speed-walk to the Reaping, time being very restricted due to my duties at the Mayor's house earlier. Luckily we only live a few minutes away from the main centre of the District, so we arrive just in time and join the back of the rather short queue to sign in.<p>

"Petunia." Adne turns to me as we wait in the queue, her pale green eyes moist with new-born tears. "I'm scared."

I hold my arms out and she steps into them, wrapping her own tightly around my waist. I can feel a dampness growing on my dress where her tears have soaked into the fabric.

"Don't worry about it." I say soothingly, stroking her hair fondly. "You won't be chosen, your name is only in there twice. And if you do, then I'll volunteer for you."

"But I can't let you." She mumbles into my body. "You'll…die."

"No I won't, I'll make sure I get home for you." I tell her. "I won't ever give up on getting home."

"Ahem." A sharp cough from in front tells us that it is our turn at the front of the queue. Adne peels herself from me and shakily holds a finger out to the woman. I see her flinch as the needle pricks her fingertip, then watch her be escorted to stand with the other thirteen year old girls whilst I get my own finger pricked.

Licking the tiny spot of blood from my finger, I walk over to near the back of the crowd and stand alongside the seventeen year old girls. I don't know that many of them, but I offer a generous smile to those who catch my eye.

The Reaping is the same as every year, the brightly dressed escort recites her annual speech and then proceeds to select the tributes for this year's Hunger Games.

"Ladies first…" She says cheerfully, dipping her dainty hand into the bowl and plucking out a slip of paper. "Petunia Evens."

I look around as faces turn to stare at me, catching sympathetic looks, as well as those looks of relief. That is the look I have on my face: relief. I'm not relieved to be reaped because I want to go into the Hunger Games, who does? But instead I am relieved that no younger girls were chosen in my place. There is nothing worse than a young child being thrown into the Games. I'd much rather take their place than watch them die too early. So despite the fears of never returning home, I walk up to the stage calmly, with a small smile of gladness that I'm allowing a younger girl to live an extra year.

David Peterson (17), District 10 Male POV

Mateo, Reid, Owen and I walk to the Reaping together, shuffling along the dusty roads in a solid group, no-one drifting off to one side or racing ahead of the others. This is the way we usually are; one close group. We know that we are different to all the other boys in our district who are far more out-going and sociable than we are and it is because of this that we are considered to be 'The Outcasts', at least that's what people tend to label us. But I don't mind as much, I'd prefer to be myself and have few friends than know everyone and be someone I'm not.

"So, you guys nervous?" Mateo is the first to break the awkward silence.

We all nod, because if we didn't then we'd be lying. We are older than most of the kids at the Reaping, but that doesn't mean we have any less of a chance of dying in the Games. If anything, we have a higher chance because we have more opportunities to be reaped, due to our ages and number of slips in the Reaping bowls.

No-one says anything else as we walk up to the Reaping, probably because we're all nervous and also pretty quiet normally so this isn't as awkward as it seems.

When we reach the main square, we split into half between the two queues and wait to sign in. Reid is in front of me and I watch him wince as his finger is pricked; he isn't fond of blood and always has to turn away when watching the Games and blood is seen. I remember once when we were kids, Mateo was messing around with one of the pitchforks and ended up slicing a three-inch deep wound into his leg that sent a rush of blood pouring out of his calf and creating a red pool on the floor around him. As soon as Reid saw the blood, he passed out almost instantly, so Owen and I were left with two unstable friends instead of just the one.

Once I've signed in, I stand with Reid and we wait for the others to join us. They come soon enough and we stand packed together as we always do, dodging the middle fingers gestured towards us by the other older boys who find it funny to pick on us for being quiet. The Reaping passes quickly, as it always does, bringing the dreaded moment ever closer.

"Now, the boys!" The escort says, abandoning the girl who was reaped, Petunia, to go and select her partner.

And her partner turns out to be me.

"David Peterson!" Is called over the crowds and I feel my heart sinking with each shaky breath I draw in. My friends offer me weak smiles, but I can see the tears welling up in their eyes despite their efforts to contain their devastation. As bravely as I can, I step out of the crowd and make my way up to the stage, keeping my head hung low to hide my face.

As I walk onto the stage, I keep my eyes looking over the crowd to avoid the intense gaze of the escort that would only result in me breaking down in fear. I try to keep my eyes looking to the floor as I shake Petunia's hand, but her warm and gentle smile urges me to show her some recognition, so I simply flash her the weakest smile I can muster before turning away again. I daren't speak because I can already feel the growing lump in my throat that I don't think will leave until I die. Which, of course, will be very soon because people like me don't win the Games.

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><p><strong>AN- So, two slightly different tributes here. David, with his quiet nature, will he be able to muster up the courage to do well in these Games? And Petunia, with her maternal and caring nature, will she struggle to cope with the brutality of the Hunger Games?**

**Please let me know what you thought of these two tributes and thanks to the two authors for submitting them! I hope I did them justice, haha! If not then blame my brain for being put under exam stress :P**

**Only four more tributes left to see and District Eleven is next... What will these next two tributes bring to the Games? **

**Thank you for your patience and I promise that I won't be going on any breaks for a while now; I have a vast summer holiday now so that means much more writing time! Woop woop! Virtual cake for everyone! **

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**


	13. District Eleven Reapings

**A/N- Sorry for the slightly delayed update! I had this chapter finished a couple of days ago, but I was staying away from home so I couldn't post it up! However, I am back home and ready to present the District 11 Reapings! This was a good chapter to write, with interesting tributes submitted by Elemental Evolution and Dissection of the mind.**

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><p><span>Nietzsche Cirque (17), District 11 Male POV<span>

_It's dark. Very dark. The kind of dark you get where shadows are paler than the sky and when you look up you can't tell if you're looking at the sky or a ceiling. This is the kind of dark I don't like; the one where you can't see anything but blackness and you feel almost suffocated and claustrophobic, scared to move, make a sound, or even breathe._

_A low creaking sound enters my ears, the sound of floorboards groaning under the weight of a human foot. I stiffen in my bed, my knuckles aching as I clutch hold of the duvet with tight fists. With bated breath, I wait until I hear another sound. But when I do hear a sound, it isn't a creaking floorboard. It's a scream._

_My gut tells me to stay put, but the sound of my Mother's scream presses an eject button within me that forces me out of bed and across to her room. _

_As soon as the tips of my toes peep into her room, I sense there is something wrong. Not only by the sound of my Mother whimpering, but by the thick humidity that lingers in the air and tastes of intrusion. We are not alone._

"_Mom?" I say in a hushed voice, pushing the slightly ajar door open. _

"_Nietzsche…" the hoarse voice of my mother replies. "Go back to bed, please…"_

"_But…" I push the door further open and step into the room. There is no way I am leaving her without checking if she is ok._

_But as soon as I come around the door, all I see is a large object being swung towards my face and hear the shrilling sound of my mother's scream._

_The following moments are all blur to me, but when I flicker my eyelids open slightly, I can see several pairs of feet, so I can deduce that I'm lying on the floor. There's a pain in my left temple and my consciousness feels like it's hanging by a tiny thread; one that is being pulled tighter and closer towards snapping point._

"_The kid's out." Says the low voice of a man. "You look in the drawers and grab anything worthwhile. I'll take care of the bitch."_

_The sound of the drawers being savagely pulled open crashes in my ears and the floor vibrates as various items from the drawers are tossed aside, considered unworthy to take. My body twitches a little, but my head feels so heavy that I am unable to move, stuck to the floor like a fly in a spider's web. _

"_My son, is he alive?" I hear the desperate voice of my mother. "Please…"_

Mom…

"_The kid's probably dead." The man replies, a dry chuckle echoing in his throat. "We hit him pretty hard. Doubt he's gonna get up."_

_A whimper escapes my mother's lips, but her sobs are soon twisted into a strangled cry. I prize my eyelids open and through the blurred veil that coats my eyes I can just make out my mother crouched in a corner, blood dripping from thousands of tiny punctures in the side of her face. And the man stands in front of her, one hand clutching a grater and the other with a piece of barbed wire snaking down from his fist. A single drop of blood drops off the end of the wire. _

_A rush of anger explodes inside of me, but no matter how hard I try, I can't will my body to move. Strained, my eyelids fall shut and I can feel consciousness tugging on me like a child tugging on the arm of a parent. Meanwhile my mother's agony-filled screams fill the air, mixed with the cold hard laughs of the men torturing her and turning the hairs on the back of my neck upright._

_Now my sight has gone, my sense of touch begins to leave me. I can no longer feel the floor beneath me; I feel as if I'm floating in an abyss, close to nothing but empty spaces. And the taste of blood in the back of my throat isn't as strong as it was before, becoming bland and tasteless._

_They say that your sense of hearing is the last to go and for me, this is definitely true. Blinded, paralysed and unable to taste or smell anything but pain, I'm left with only sound as I drift closer and closer to unconsciousness. And when it finally does cease to exist within me, the last thing I hear are my mother's words. _Kill me.

It's dark. Very dark. And I bury my head under the pillow and try to block out the memories, but know that they'll only come back again later.

Cerese Melion (16), District 11 Female POV

Some mornings I wake up and as my eyelids are slowly lifting themselves open, I think that I could die today. Quite a morbid thought to most people, but it's true, isn't it? You never know when you're going to die, not even the Capitol can know precisely. Sure, they can make accurate guesses if you're in the Hunger Games and their fingers are poised above a button that will release a huge tidal wave of water over you, or unleash a deadly forest fire that will burn you to cinders, but even then it isn't certain. Not much is certain in this world except the fact that one day you will die, and that day could be today.

With a sigh, I push the duvet off my body and sit up in bed. My back aches as I stretch my arms upwards, a usual consequence of the work I do harvesting fruit in the fields of District Eleven. A chunk of my hair falls in my face, flopping awkwardly over one of my eyes, so I grab the elastic band from the table next to my bed and tie it back in my usual ponytail. My hair feels slightly greasy to touch, another consequence of long hours working in fields, but I have already slept in this morning and I doubt I have enough time to get it washed and dried before the Reaping.

The Reaping. A shudder passes down my spine as I think about it. This is my fifth Reaping, yet I still bear the fear of the Games as I did when I was twelve.

"Cerese?" I hear my Mom calling my name from downstairs and I sigh, realising that I have slept in longer than I first thought.

"I'm coming, Mom!" I shout only half-enthusiastically in reply and swing my legs out of bed, landing with a soft thud into my work shoes that I left by the side of my bed.

It seems I'm the last person to get out of bed this morning as I walk into the kitchen. My Mom is busying herself with the breakfast, whilst my Dad is slouching back in one of the chairs with a piece of creased paper in his hands.

"Bloody bastard is havin' lunch with the Mayor next week." He says angrily, gesturing to the paper. "Apparently he has so much potential and is lookin' at a decent promotion, 'cording to the Mayor. I'll tell ya what he has potential for, a good smack 'cross the fat gob! The bastard!"

I come in quietly and take a seat opposite my Dad, who is still grumbling. His brother, my uncle, moved to District Five last year after a chance job proposal. He regularly sends letters to my Dad bragging about his new life and all the amazing opportunities he is getting. Unfortunately, instead of being pleased for his brother, my Dad only gets jealous and frustrated that he wasn't chosen. I always know when a letter has arrived because all I can hear being said is 'bloody bastard' every other minute.

"And guess what the bloody bastard also says?!" He shouts to my Mom, even though she is standing just a few feet away from him. "They're movin' house as well. Got a huge garden apparently. God dammit, he's got it all, the bloody bastard."

Mom just nods; she has learned not to say anything when my Dad is in one of his rages. He has pretty bad anger issues and can be quite open about them, whereas I tend to keep my anger locked up inside, a trait I inherited from my Mom. It has its advantages and its disadvantages, I guess.

"Don't worry too much about it, Dad." I say calmingly, reaching for a mug. "I'm sure you'll get a promotion soon enough and then you can send letters back to him."

Dad just grunts and proceeds to crumple the letter in his fists, tossing it in the fireplace when it's squeezed into a tiny ball. I don't believe that my Dad will get a promotion, it's rare to get a job higher than a field-worker here, but I like to keep on the good side of people so I tend to just say what they want to hear.

"How long is it until the Reaping?" I ask my Mom, taking a seat and swiping the last slice of toast.

"Not long." She replies. "Your sister will be here in about ten minutes, I suggest you hurry up and get dressed."

Nodding because my mouth is full of lukewarm toast, I stand up and leave the room, running up two stairs at a time until I reach my bedroom. I glance at the dusty clock on the top of the chest of drawers, the hand ticking at the same speed as always, yet seeming to be moving faster as each second brings the Reaping closer. Grasping hold of the knob, I yank open the first drawer and it pulls out with a screech that pierces down my ears. My hands root around, pushing aside my work clothes until I find my one and only dress. I pull it out and brush out the creases, then slide out of my sleepwear and into the dress.

It's a plain dress, but tasteful. A pale blue sleeveless number that hangs just above my knees, showing off my toned legs from hours standing in the fields. I guess working in the fields is great for my figure.

Just as I am straightening the bottom of my dress, I hear a knock at the door, followed by the sound of my Mom planting a sloppy kiss on my sister's cheek. I head downstairs, grabbing a white shawl on my way out.

"Hey Cerese." My sister, Pomeline, says. "You ready?"

I nod and we leave the house, making our way down to the Reaping. Pomeline is nineteen, so this is her first year since she was twelve of not being eligible reaping age, but she still insisted on coming to the Reaping with me. Pomeline and I don't have a particularly close relationship, but we can carry a conversation without feeling too awkward. She moved out from the family house two years ago to live with her boyfriend, so we usually just talk about her new life, although whenever we disagree she always thinks she is right, which I do find a little annoying about her. She will never admit when she is wrong and I tend to get a little angry about it, but I push it all down for the fear of saying something I'll regret to her; she's my only sister and I don't want to fall out with her.

We chat about the typical things on the way to the Reaping, like her relationship with her boyfriend and that she thinks he is going to propose marriage to her soon. But as soon as we reach the main square, we both fall silent, our shared fear of the Games rising.

"Good luck, Cerese." Pomeline says, giving my hand a quick squeeze. "I'll be watching from the sides and I'll see you after the Reaping."

"That's only if I don't get reaped." I say matter-of-factly.

Pomeline bites her lip anxiously. "I don't think that will happen."

"Why not?" I question. "There is every chance it could be me."

Pomelines's eyes fall to the floor, she knows I'm right. "Well, um, good luck then."

"Luck doesn't come into this." I say, rolling my eyes and walking over to sign in. It annoys me when people wish others good luck in the Reaping; luck isn't involved at all. It's just a game of chance; either your name is picked out or it isn't. Simple as that. But a lot more scary.

By the time I have signed in and stood in line with the other girls my age, my hands are trembling. I clasp them together, my fingers squeezing each other tightly, limiting the blood flow to my fingertips so they feel slightly numb. My heart rate quickens as the escort reads the Treaty of Treason and the Capitol movie plays. My breaths become shorter and shallower, my nerves clearly pushing aside all other thoughts of hope.

And when the escort plucks out the first slip of paper, I am close to passing out from lack of breath.

"Cerese Melion!"

I let out a single scream.

You may not be certain of when you are going to die. But at last now I know it will be soon.

Nietzsche Cirque (17), District 11 Male POV

"Are you ok, Nietzsche?" My father asks as I walk down the stairs. "You seem a little…on edge."

I shrug, sitting myself down on one of the steps to fasten my shoe laces. "I'm fine, just another dream, that's all."

"Was it bad?" He asks, a concerned look drawn onto his face. My father was out the night my Mother and I were attacked by the robbers, so he escaped the harsh memories that haunt my mind constantly.

Where most sons would probably say no, or pretend their dreams were better than they actually are, I always tell it how it is. "Terrible. Same as always." I see no point in lying; it is dishonesty that ruins the world we live in today and if people just told the truth, we would have a much simpler life and maybe even not have the Hunger Games. But seeing that people cannot help but to lie, I see there is a need for the Games, especially since the revolution over forty years ago failed.

"Maybe you should get some help again…" Father suggests, referring to the time when I started seeing a counsellor after the incident. I really tried to make it work, I wanted my Father to think that things were getting better, but at the end of the day, no amount of talking about feelings could remove the scars I bear from that night.

"I don't think it would work." I reply, tying the laces on my shoes into a double knot. "Talking about it won't really help."

"Won't help what?" Asks my younger sister, Christina, who has just walked in.

"Nothing darling, it doesn't matter." Father quickly says before I tell her. He knows I hate keeping things from Christina, but he would always prefer her not to know exactly how bad things are for me. As far as she is concerned, our Mother was killed accidently by the robbers, not brutally murdered as I know she was. "Are you all ready for the Reaping?"

My sister nods, gesturing down to her new shoes that she sat up for half the night polishing. Because we aren't a wealthy family, we barely receive new things such as clothes and shoes, so when my Father has enough saved money from his job on one of the farms he likes to treat us to something and we treat those 'somethings' like gold dust.

Along the walk to the Reaping, Christina tells us about a friend of hers whose cousin was reaped for the Games last year. For only thirteen years old, Christina is quite mature and handles the reality of the Hunger Games like any other inevitable bad thing in life. Throughout her life she has never shed as much as a single tear over the Reaping; I think this is because having our Mother dying when she was only young has made her stronger, where it has only weakened myself.

After saying a quick goodbye to our Father, Christina and I wait in the queue to sign in.

"Hey, Nietzsche." I feel a prod in my shoulder and turn around to see my friend Reece standing behind me. Reece is only fourteen, so three years younger than myself, but we are good friends. Sometime last year I stood up for him when some of the local bullies were trying to mug him in the street. I'm not normally a heroic kind of person, but it reminded me of the robbers who took advantage of my Mother and I, so I felt it was my responsibility to stop it happening to someone else. Since that day Reece has followed me around, insisting he must pay back his debt.

"Hey, Reece." I greet the younger boy. "How are you doing?"

Reece shrugs. "Ok, I guess. Just nervous for the reaping, you know."

I nod and stay quiet whilst he chats to me all through the queue to sign in and all the way up to the point where we have to split because of our ages. I wish him the best and scour the group of seventeen year old boys until I spot my best friend John, then walk over to stand with him.

"Was that Reece?" John asks as I come beside him.

I nod.

"Wow, that kid really does worship you, doesn't he?" He laughs. "You know, you could get him to do all sorts of stuff for you. I reckon he'd do pretty much anything you asked."

I shake my head. "No, it wouldn't be fair to treat him like that. I just helped him out once, did what any other decent guy should have done. He doesn't need to return the favour."

"You know your problem, Nietzsche?" John says. "You're too honest."

I don't have time to reply to that because the Capitol theme music starts to play and the Reaping commences.

The girl who is reaped, Cerese Melion, doesn't take the news so well and lets out an awful scream when she hears her name. But once she has let her initial shock out, she seems to compose herself and walks up to the stage without the need to be escorted by Peacekeepers. I admire her for that.

"And joining Cerese will be…." The escort pauses as she reads the name on the slip. "Nietzsche Cirque!"

Beside me, John gasps, but I make no sound at all. Taking a single deep breath, I step out from the crowd and walk towards the stage, my head held high. I have nothing to hide and nothing to fear. I have seen enough in one night that will prepare me for anything the Games throw at me.

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><p><strong>AN- Two quite dark tributes there; Nietzsche with his terrible ordeal and Cerese with her morbid thoughts of death... But an interesting pair all the same! What are your thoughts on these two tributes?**

**Only one more reaping chapter left to go and then we shall move into the Capitol, where I have many things planned! We will see our tributes mixing with each other before entering the arena... I'm very excited!**

**Thanks for all the support so far, you're all great! Please keep reading and reviewing, I appreciate it!**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**


	14. District Twelve Reapings

**A/N- I shall begin with yet another apology for the late update...but I have serious reasons for this which include a health worry and a family crisis so please go easy on me... Both of those have now been sorted so the story is back on! And finally, I can now present the final reapings and our last two tributes kindly submitted by Cometsrock1 and Tessabelle94. Enjoy!**

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><p><span>Alex Silver (18), District 12 Male POV<span>

As I roll over, my eyes open and I glance at the clock on the bedside table. Ten o'clock. Three hours before the Reaping. With a heavy, sleep-filled sigh, I roll back onto my back and stare up at the ceiling above me. The paint is thickly applied, but in the corners of the room where the ceiling meets the walls, the paint is slightly peeling; a depressing consequence of living in a District where the air is unhealthy and thick with dust from the coal mines. Beside me, Christina stirs in her sleep and I look down at her. Her light blonde hair falls over her face, covering her cheeks with a golden veil. With my finger, I gently push aside the strands of hair and uncover her beautiful face which is relaxed from her gentle sleep.

Christina and I are engaged, I proposed to her early last year and we plan to get married this year. She originally wanted to marry last summer, after the Games, but I persuaded her to wait an extra year until we were no longer eligible reaping ages, so we could start our new life together with the Games no longer posing a threat to our relationship. However, little does she know, the true reason why I wanted to wait is because I have decided to volunteer for the Games this year so I can be rich enough to give her the wedding of her dreams, and also to show that you don't need to be a Career to succeed in the Hunger Games. People often underestimate tributes from outer Districts, yet a few of the past Victors from these Districts have achieved just as much as any Career tribute. There hasn't been a District Twelve Victor yet, but I'm hoping to change that. It's time that people stop brushing us aside, casting us away, we have just as much of a chance as any other non-career District.

Of course, most people would call me crazy, but I'm smart enough to know what I'm doing. Just show a little determination and you can do anything you want.

"Alex?" Christina mumbles my name sleepily, her eyelids fluttering open to reveal her clear blue eyes. "What time is it?"

"Ten."

She sighs and shuffles, propping herself up on one elbow, her long hair falling down past her shoulders. "Our last Reaping today."

I nod. "One more and it's over."

"I can't wait for this day to be over and then I'll never have to worry about being in the Games ever again." She says, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "But I guess I'll still be worrying over other people." She pauses. "Like our children."

I jolt in bed at the word children and Christina gives me a confused look, her blue eyes narrowed. "What? Don't you want children? I thought you did; we talked about it."

I run a hand through my dark hair. "Sorry, yeah I do want kids; I want whatever you want. It just seems a bit… I dunno, soon?"

"Oh." Christina's head drops. "I was going to suggest that after the Reaping we start trying for a baby…"

A lump suddenly forms in my throat and I cough, trying to clear it so I can voice a reply, but Christina takes it as no and gives me a hard glare, her eyes like ice. "Fine, just forget I ever mentioned it." She says, flipping over the duvet and climbing out of bed.

"But Christina, babe." I try to reason with her, but there is no getting around my fiancée when she is in a mood like this. She gets sensitive about this sort of thing so I've learnt to just let her calm down by herself.

I watch her as she walks to our wardrobe and pulls out a cardigan, slipping her thin arms into the sleeves and wrapping the knitted garment around her body, covering up her thin pyjamas. With a swift movement, she ties her golden hair into a bun at the back of her head and then storms out of the room without a single word.

I let myself fall back onto the bed, my head hitting the pillow with a thud. _Women_…

Emilia Lowe (15), District 12 Female POV

I turn the page, the crisp paper brushing against the soft pads of my fingertips. With a gentle stroke, I run my finger across the page of the book, using it as a guide for my eyes to make sure I read every single word without accidentally missing out a line, which is quite easy to do when the font is as small as this. My eyes narrow as I concentrate on the words before me, my pupils tracing the jet black ink with care. Just as I am halfway down the page, the book is jostled in my hand and my finger slips from my place, swiping fast against the edge of the page and causing a stinging pain where the skin of my finger is sliced apart.

"Poppet!" I exclaim, looking down at the calico kitten who nuzzles his head against the spine of the book. At hearing his name, Poppet glances up at me with his large eyes and rests a paw on my thigh, a way of asking for forgiveness. Seeing his wide and innocent eyes amongst his fluffy face, I give in and put the book down, pulling the kitten close to my stomach. Poppet begins to softly purr as I stroke his back, the sound vibrating gently against me.

"You silly kitten." I say to him, rubbing behind his ears, which is one of his favourite places to be petted. He purrs louder as I tickle his favoured spot. "Not only have I lost my place in my book, but I have also cut my finger. I shall have to get a plaster now."

"A plaster?" The door of the library swings open with gusto. "Whatever for?"

I look up from my lap to see my father, the Mayor of the District and henceforth the reason we have a library in our house, stride into the room.

"Poppet knocked my book so I cut my finger on the paper." I answer. "It's just a small cut, nothing particularly dangerous. Unless, of course, it was to become infected."

"Which it won't." He says, turning away and shouting into the hallway for the housekeeper.

A few moments later, Mrs Cole comes rushing in with a first aid kit clutched in her hand. She approaches me and asks to see my finger, so I hold it out for her and a single drop of crimson blood drips onto my knee. Poppet licks it off then shakes his head at the metallic taste.

"It is only a small paper cut." I tell Mrs Cole. "It isn't anything to worry about."

Peeling back a plaster, Mrs Cole wraps it around my injured finger. "It is best to keep it clean and protected against any bacteria. What may seem like nothing to worry about may end up becoming something that kills you. Or at least it might if you were in the Hunger Games."

At the mention of the Games, my father clears his throat. "I don't think we will need to worry about such things as the Hunger Games where Emilia is concerned. Her name is only in there four times and I highly doubt she would be reaped, especially since she is my daughter."

"Being the mayor doesn't grant Emilia immunity from the Games, Mr Lowe." The housekeeper remarks truthfully.

"And being my housekeeper does not grant you permission to question my power, Mrs Cole." Father replies firmly. "I suggest you go upstairs and prepare Emilia for the Reaping. I have some errands to attend to, but I shall see you both at one."

Mrs Cole and I exit the library in silence, my father's words still lingering in the air. Being the mayor, he has a lot of authority over most of the District and he tends to let it show even at home. Since my mother died giving birth to my stillborn brother when I was five, my father became focused on me and was insistent that I was going to be exactly like him when I was older so that I could carry on as mayor in his place. From a young age I was introduced to books and encouraged to read as much and as often as I could; after ten years I have almost completed the entire collection in his library. My father taught me to value education and intelligence over relationships, which is why I have no friends besides Poppet. Father says that relationships, even just simple friendships, can get in the way of academic success, so despite the urges I feel to talk to someone in my class, I fear my father's disapproval and my failure, so I choose to stay focused on my studies instead. It isn't all that bad really because I am always the top of my class and impress my father, but it can be a little lonely living in a world where intelligence takes priority over everything else.

Once in my bedroom, Mrs Cole helps me dress into my chosen outfit for the Reaping: a pale pink ruffled dress with a bow tied at the back. It is fairly young in appearance; nothing like some of the short, tight dresses you see girls from District One and Two wearing where they show off their toned bodies from years of physical training. But with my petite frame with little to show, as I am quite under-developed for my age, the dress suits me perfectly.

"You look lovely, Emilia." Mrs Cole announces, tying my hair up in a high and swishy ponytail. "It's a shame about the situation, but you look lovely even so."

"Thank you, Mrs Cole." I thank the older lady. She smiles warmly back, the wrinkles creasing at the corners of her mouth.

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><p>Mrs Cole and I take a short walk to the centre of the District where the Reaping takes place. Living in the mayor's house means that I live in the heart of the District, so I barely take a few steps before I'm pulled into a crowd of people. Girls and boys with faces pulled tight with fear and dread walk past me, fists clenched and knuckles white. I say goodbye to Mrs Cole and slip behind the other teenagers, trying to blend in with the rest of them. Normally I would stick out like a sore thumb, but today the atmosphere is filled with so much tension that no-one is really noticing anyone.<p>

One by one the people sign in, until it is my turn. I hold out my finger, then suddenly realising it is covered by a plaster, I retract it and hold out another instead. The woman rolls her eyes before pricking my finger and taking a sample of my blood. I am then shooed away and sent over to stand with the other fifteen year old girls.

As I wait in the line, I notice the girl who I am standing beside. Her name is Mona and I often see her sitting in the school library during lunchtimes. I spend a lot of time in the library and whenever she is there I really want to go over and start a conversation with her, but I am always reminded of my father's words so I shy out of it. But today is the Reaping and Mona does seem a little worried, so I doubt a few comforting words will harm anything.

"Um, hi." I say shyly. "Mona, right?"

Mona looks at me, surprised for a moment, but then her features soften as she replies. "Yeah. Are ya Emilia, Mayor Lowe's daughter?"

I nod, easier than saying yes.

"I bet ya ain't very nervous, are ya?" Mona says.

I shake my head. "My name is only in there four times."

"Lucky thing." She replies. "I have my name in there thirty times- _thirty_!"

My eyes widen. "Why so many times?"

"Well Da doesn't earn a lot from the mines and Ma can't work because she has my lil' sister to look after and my brother ain't old enough to work yet, so that leaves me to sign up for tesserae." She tells me. "I'm hopin' to do well in school so I can get a good job and earn some proper money, ya know?"

I nod.

There is no time to continue the conversation because the Capitol anthem begins to play and the Reaping begins. I stand patiently as the escort does her speech and then proceeds to the Reaping.

"Emilia Lowe!" She announces, holding up a small slip of paper.

I look up, shocked, but hold myself together as I walk up to the stage. I guess there was always a chance of being Reaped, I just never believed it would happen.

Alex Silver (18), District 12 Male POV

Christina seems to have perked up as we leave the house to walk to the Reaping; her anger towards my reluctance to have kids seeming to have drifted off into the dust-filled air where it will linger and wait until another day where we will have the dreaded discussion again. It's not that I don't want children because I do. I just want to win the Games and live the victory for a bit before I settle down. How is Christina going to enjoy the endless parties and events if she is pregnant and unable to drink the amazing alcoholic beverages they consume in the Capitol, or fit into the tight and brightly coloured dresses?

As we walk down to the Reaping, I give her hand a tight squeeze and she smiles sweetly.

"Are you nervous for our last Reaping?" She asks, completely unaware of my plans to volunteer. "I can't wait to get it over and done with."

"Not really." I reply simply, not wanting to give anything away.

She tosses her hair over one shoulder. "I guess you've never really been nervous for the Reaping. All the years I have known you, you're always the one calming me and you never seemed to be bothered about it yourself."

"I don't like to worry about things." I tell her. "If I get reaped then I get reaped; nothing I can do about it."

Christina bites her lip. "I wish I could think like you."

We say no more on the matter as we reach the place where the Reaping is being held. As we wait, still hand-in-hand, to be signed in, I hear my name being called and I turn my head to see my friend Pollux waving at us from a short distance. I raise my hand in acknowledgment and Christina gives him a friendly wave. Once we are signed in, we meet Pollux and he slaps me on the back and kisses Christina politely on the hand.

"Oh Pollux, you gentleman!" Christina giggles, as Pollux plants his lips gently on her hand. "You should give Alex some tips; he doesn't have a romantic bone in his body!"

"I can be romantic…" I object meekly, but Christina simply raises a plucked and sceptical eyebrow.

"You wouldn't know romance even if it slapped you across the face!" She jokes. "Anyway, I should leave you boys and I'll see you after the Reaping –hopefully!"

She gives me a quick kiss on the lips and gives Pollux one on the cheek and then flounces off to stand with the other girls whilst Pollux and I stand with the boys.

We watch the Reaping, occasionally getting glances from Christina as the moment everyone fears draws closer. The girl is reaped first and I breathe a sigh of relief as Christina's name isn't read out. The crowd seems quite shocked with the chosen girl; it is Emilia Lowe, the daughter of the mayor. Girls in her position never get reaped, so it shows that even the most privileged are affected by the Games. Where most people fear them, I want to be part of them.

Surprisingly, as the time for the boy to be reaped arrives, I am not feeling very nervous. I wait patiently as the escort dips her hand into the bowl and draws out a name.

"Paul—"

"I volunteer!" I shout clearly, stepping out from the crowds into the parting in-between.

There is a stunned silence as I stride confidently up to the stage and take my place beside Emilia. Paul, the boy who was reaped, grabs my hand and thanks me before running off the stage quickly as if he is scared I will change my mind, which I won't. Once my mind is set on something, it will take a heck of a lot to change it. And that includes my decision to win the Hunger Games.

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><p><strong>AN- So those are our final tributes; quite a mismatched pair aren't they? What did you think of them? Alex is a little bit of an interesting one, maybe with his ambitious mind a little unrealistic, but he may surprise us in the Games... As for Emilia, she may be quiet and not used to the general sufferings of life due to her privileged upbringing, but her intelligence and lack of emotional attachment may just help her to succeed in the arena.**

**Please review and let me know your thoughts on this chapter and also of all the tributes so far. I am posting up a poll on my profile page where you will be able to vote for your favourite tribute/reaping so far so please cast a vote! I shall allow for three votes, so you don't have to narrow it down to just one favourite. I will keep the poll up until the tributes enter the arena as your opinions may change as the Games begin...**

**Now that the Reapings are over, we move onto the Capitol chapters where we will get to know more about the tributes and see how they react with each other. I have many plans for these following chapters and I hope you are as excited to reading them as I am to writing them! **

**Thank you for all your support so far and please keep on reading and reviewing! I will be updating much quicker now that I have cleared my personal life up, so don't worry about a repeat performance (although I cannot help it if for some reason I get kidnapped by a unicorn or have another unfortunate accident..such is the chance of life!)**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**


	15. Poll Notice

**Hi everyone. Just a quick message to say that the poll is now up on my profile page, so please vote for your favourite tributes so far! I thought I had posted it up the other day, but I forgot to add it to my profile haha, silly me! Well it's up now so please vote! I am working on the first Capitol chapter now so it should also be up very soon!**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**


	16. Goodbyes

**A/N- Welcome readers to the next main part of the story- the Capitol chapters! Just as a quick explanation, there will be twelve chapters (just like the Reapings) each with two tributes' POVs in and they will each be a different part of the Capitol journey between the Reaping and the arena. So this will include things such as the train journeys, tribute parade, interviews, training etc. This will be when we first see our tributes reacting with each other and alliances forming, so a very important and exciting time! I have a lot planned for this and I hope you enjoy it! First up are the goodbyes, set just after the Reapings... **

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><p><span>Nardia Cornelius James, District 8 Female POV<span>

"Our District Eight tributes for the Forty Fourth annual Hunger Games: Nardia Cornelius James and Talon Radycus!" The escort's voice booms from the speakers, my name echoing over the crowds of people. I look at their faces and see relief written in their eyes, a silent sigh that their lives are spared another year, or for the eighteen year olds, spared forever from the Hunger Games. But as well as relief, I also see their sympathy. The sadness in their eyes tell me that they believe we are going to leave this District and never come back, at least not come back alive. Without the Games even starting they believe we are going to lose…and we probably will. But we won't go down without a fight.

As our hands are forced together, Talon and I share an awkward glance, our eyes meeting for a moment. His dark green eyes show that he is scared, a slight dampness in them where he is holding off tears, but when he manages a small smile I can tell that he is a strong person. It takes a lot to smile when you feel like crying, so I admire him for it and return the smile by squeezing his hand gently because I can't bring myself to smile like him. Not yet.

We stand in silence on the stage for a few more moments, taking in the thousands of faces watching us. Then the escort sharply turns and our hands are pulled apart as we are ushered into the building behind the stage. I see Talon glance behind us, getting a last glimpse of home before the doors shut and we never see it again. But I can't bring myself to look back because I know that if I do, I will find it hard to look forward again.

Once inside the building, Talon is taken into a separate room and I'm shown into one just across the corridor. The double doors slam shut behind me as soon as I step into the room and my heart skips a beat from the startle. Inside the room there are no windows, instantly creating a sense of confinement that makes me feel a little uncomfortable. A large couch sits against one the walls and opposite it are two grand armchairs. I consider which seat to choose, then settle for the couch. But just as I sit down the door swings open and I leap to my feet.

"Nardia!" I hear the cry of my mother and milliseconds later see her rushing into the room. I step forward to embrace her and my nostrils are filled with the familiar scent of clean laundry; a smell I associate with her. Her arms wrap around my body tightly like a bandage as she whispers soothing words down my ear, probably to try and calm my nerves, though she clearly needs it more than I do.

"Mom, you're crushing me." I wheeze. "Don't kill me before the Games even start."

She instantly pulls away, her face creased with concern. I can see tears welling up in her eyes and I know how hard she is trying not to cry.

"I'm sorry, Mom." I quickly try to amend what I said. "I didn't mean it like that, it was just a joke to try and lift the heavy atmosphere. I didn't mean to upset you, honest."

She nods, a single tear breaking away from her metallic grey eyes and trickling down her cheek. "I know, darling. I'm sorry." And she takes me in for a second embrace.

After she finally lets me go, my father comes forwards. Father generally favours Cassandra's outgoing nature over my quieter behaviour, so we tend to spend little amount of time together. But I know that doesn't mean he loves me any less and when he hugs me, I can feel his love warming my body and I squeeze my arms around his broad back like I used to do when I was little.

The twins are next and both come to me at full pelt, almost knocking me over as they come crashing at my sides. I wrap one arm around Jackie and the other around Alexandria, holding them both close to me. This is the closest they have been to me without pulling some sort of prank and I'm half expecting them to pin a sign to my back saying _'kick me'_. But they don't, which is nice for a change, but also quite sad as I know I'll probably never see them again.

Finally, Cassandra steps towards me and I smile at my sister. Despite our differences, we are fairly close and she squeezes me tightly in her skinny arms. "Good luck, Nard." She whispers to me. "I know you can win if you try. Please come back to us."

"I'll try." I whisper back, though whilst I know it's the truth, I'm not sure whether I'll be able to achieve it. But it is always best to be as positive as you can.

The door opens and a Peacekeeper stands in the doorway, telling us that visiting time is over. My mother starts to protest, saying she hasn't had enough time to say goodbye, but the Peacekeeper is unsympathetic and insists that they leave. I wave to them as they leave, trying my best to keep up my smile. Then the door shuts again and I'm left alone.

Moments later the door opens once more and Daisy and Alec come bursting in. Daisy's face is pink and stained with tears and her voice cracks as she says my name. Alec seems more in control of his emotions, but his face seems forlorn as he stares down at his feet.

Daisy is the first to make a move and she rushes towards me, practically jumping on me in a desperate embrace.

"Oh my gosh, Nardia!" She says, her voice sounding strained and raw. "I am so sorry, I can't believe it! This is so horridly unfair!"

"It's ok, it had to happen to someone." I reply, though I can feel tears pricking behind my eyes.

"But why you?!" She exclaims, pulling away from me and holding me by the shoulders. "Why choose my _best friend_?!"

"No-one can help it." I say honestly. "It's just a matter of chance. It could have been anyone."

There's a sharp knock on the door, indicating that we only have a minute left before Daisy and Alec have to leave and I'm left to fend for myself.

Sighing, Daisy says, "I'll let Alec have this last minute, I've taken up most of the time myself. Sorry."

She takes a step back and Alec takes her place. He looks down at me with his large dark eyes that I am struggling to read, but he says nothing. I am not used to Alec being as quiet as this at all.

"Alec?" I say his name softly, tugging his sleeve to bring his attention to me. To our last moments as friends together before we are torn apart. But he says nothing.

Instead he kisses me.

I feel his hands gripping the sides of my face, his fingertips pressing into the softness of my cheeks. His lips crush down on mine and he kisses me with such a force and with such urgency that I simply stand stunned, unable to respond. When the sound of the door opening comes, he quickly pulls away from me, turns away and leaves the room with Daisy following behind.

I stand for a moment, feeling a tingling sensation that is left on my lips. But that is all I feel. I feel nothing else whatsoever. Am I supposed to feel something back? Like a sudden rush of love towards Alec? Because I don't. Alec is still my friend and nothing but my friend. So I remain standing alone feeling nothing other than the tingling on my lips.

Emilia Lowe, District 12 Female POV

I stand on the stage beside the escort with my hands clutched together, my fingers squeezed tightly to hold back the tears that I feel burning behind my eyes. This wasn't part of my plan, nor part of my Father's. I always thought I was as close to immune to the Games as you could get, being the Mayor's daughter, but that obviously isn't true.

Waiting in silence, I watch as the escort moves to choose the male tribute. A slip of paper is plucked from the bowl and the escort proceeds to reading the name. I try to squint my eyes to read the name before they read it out, but the writing is too small to see clearly from where I stand, so I just wait like everyone else.

"Paul—" The escort begins to say, but doesn't get to reading out the rest of the name because someone yells from the back of the crowd.

"I volunteer!"

I gasp as a boy steps out from the crowd and starts to stride confidently towards the stage. No-one ever volunteers from District Twelve and it seems that everyone else is just as stunned as I am.

When the boy reaches the stage, the escort runs over and thrusts a microphone to his lips.

"I'm Alex Silver." The boy says clearly, addressing the rest of the District and the cameras around. "And that is all you need to know for now."

There is a murmur that ripples across the crowd, people unsure about what to think about Alex. He is different and he is mysterious; the question is whether or not he has what it takes. At the least he has courage and courage plays a large part in the Hunger Games.

"Your tributes for the forty-fourth Hunger Games," the escort says, pushing mine and Alex's hands together and raising them above our heads, "Emilia Lowe and Alex Silver!"

As soon as our arms are lowered, Alex snatches his hand away from mine and wipes his palm on his shirt. I raise my eyebrows in disgust at the particles of his sweat that remain stuck to my own palm and quickly proceed to copy the action of Alex.

Soon after waving to the crowds, or at least Alex waves and I simply nod meekly, we are escorted to the building that attaches to the back of the stage. Being the Mayor's daughter, I have passed through the corridors of this building, yet I have barely been in any of the rooms. A Peacekeeper shows Alex to one room and me to the one beside it.

Once inside the room, I take a seat on one of the chairs; a large armchair with a high back and a slightly worn out material that feels itchy against my bare legs. I sit as I would sit during a meeting if I was Mayor; my back up straight and my hands resting neatly in my lap. I'm only in this position for about a minute or two when the door handle turns and my father steps into the room, his face flushed a deep scarlet and the creases in his forehead even deeper than usual.

"Father." I say, raising to meet him.

"Emilia." He says my name with no expression, his tone flat and emotionless.

"Are you ok?" I ask him, not daring to go too close to him. My father has never been one for affection of any sort. "You seem…angry."

"I am more than angry." He replies, breathing out heavily. "I am absolutely fuming."

I drop my gaze to the floor and say in a quieter voice, "It's nobody's fault; these things happen."

"But not to _my_ daughter." He protests firmly.

"I'm just the same as other girls."

"No you are not." He insists. "You are the daughter of the _Mayor."_

"That doesn't make any difference."

"_IT SHOULD_!"He suddenly explodes, and I almost jump back in surprise.

And then something happens that has never happened since the day my mother and stillborn brother passed away. My Father cries.

It starts as a few tears filling up in his eyes, but as soon as the first tear breaks away and slides down his red face, he loses control and releases all of his emotions at once. I haven't seen my Father cry in years and even then I have only seem him cry once; but it is awful. Seeing a man usually so strong and powerful in a broken state like this is so foreign to me that for a few moments I don't know what do, so I just stand there in shock. But as his weeps continue, I feel myself stepping close towards him and leaning into him. He wraps his arms around me, something he rarely does, his damp cheek resting against my head. The fear, what I have tried to hold in since my name was called, suddenly releases itself inside of me and I too begin to cry.

"I'm scared." I whisper to my Father between sobs. "I'm so scared."

"So am I." He says back, his voice choked and strained against his crying. "I—"

He is quickly cut off by the opening of the door and we separate. My father's face is still red, his eyes puffy and bloodshot and his face stained with tears. I wipe my own tears with the backs of my hands and straighten my dress, as if I have just been caught doing something I'm not supposed to be doing.

"Please can we have more time?" My Father asks the Peacekeeper, but the man in uniform shakes his head firmly.

"But I'm the Mayor and I demand to have more time with my daughter!" Father says sternly, edging closer towards me. But the Peacekeeper shakes his head again and rests his hand on Father's shoulder, guiding him out the room.

"Release me at once!" My father demands angrily, trying to shake his shoulder free. "I am the Mayor; get your hands off me!"

The Peacekeeper's hand remains on his shoulder.

"Father!" I shout to him as he is ushered out of the room.

He turns his head just as the doors begin to close and I catch his eye. "I'll do whatever I can to stop—" He says, but the end of the sentence is cut short by the slamming of the door.

"Father!" I shout again, rushing to the door. I grab the handle and try to open the door, but it stays shut, so the Peacekeeper must have locked me in to prevent me from escaping and running back to my father. I squeal in frustration, banging my fists on the door and wincing at the pain. It doesn't take me long to accept that the doors are shut and I'm never going to see my father again, so I give up, lower my arms and allow my body to slide down against the door until I'm sitting on the floor and my head is leaning back against the solid wood. And then I cry until someone comes to collect me.

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><p><strong>AN- Two female tributes there... I decided to choose these two tributes because I felt they had both very different and interesting situations and I wanted to put that into the first Capitol chapter. I really enjoyed writing for these tributes a second time as well!**

**What are your thoughts? Please review and let me know what you thought about this chapter and what you expect to happen in later chapters. Any particular tributes you are interested to see interacting with each other? Let me know and I may be able to put your suggestions in if they fit!**

**Thank you for all your support so far, I love writing this and I hope you all love reading it! And also thank you to those who have voted in the poll (those who haven't, please check my profile and vote for your three favourite tributes so far!), we haven't got any clear favourite yet, but as the games go on I will re-issue out the poll and see what changes!**

**Next chapter will be the train rides... which two tributes will feature in this chapter?**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**


	17. A Story Update

**Readers,**

**I would like to apologise for my disappearance, I have had some complicated personal things in my life that prevented me from writing this story, as well as some very important exams (I only have a few left now, yay!). **

**As for where this leaves the story, I am unable to say whether or not I will be continuing this story or not, it is a matter of time and inspiration. However, it is such a shame since I had many plans for this story that I will be sad not to be able to write, therefore I shall consult my notes for this story and see if I am able to draw up some sort of plan for finishing this story. Hopefully I will be able to, but at this moment in time I am unable to guarantee anything.**

**Thank you for your support and once again I apologise for leaving so suddenly. I hope I will be able to complete this story not only for myself, but mainly for you! It is my hope that I can finish this and make it up to you all. I shall try my best to keep you updated on the current situation. If you have any questions do not hesitate to send me a message and I will get back to you asap!**

**Thanks, FireflyLlama x**


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